My heart’s velociraptoris vicious when provokedbeyond its elastic limitProportional to threatespecially in protectionof its nested YoungRage of hearts resortingto scavenging behaviorwound-licks beg deferenceLet me predate in peacerelish my relative poverty& leave my Babies alone
You asked meto bringtwo cardboard boxes home from workto make a castle& that’s exactly what you did,stacked them oneon top of the other, mama can youcut doors & windows?perfectyou continuedstoicallyeven when mama got a little bitchyabout cutting skinny stripsfrom cardboard(it’s not easy you know)I knowthank youattaching strips to flat piecesuntillook here’s my castlewith beds & thrones & windowsa balcony with railings, impressivebut just as you imaginedthere it isexactlyright,youare exactly right (good mama)as mama never could have imaginedright hereyouyou
Linking this up with Kenia’s prompt to the Real Toads, very late.
My muse has been mysterious lately, and sometimes altogether on vacation. Writing and posting here’s been slow coming as the result. But also because I was working on this:I received a very particular and interesting challenge from Grace, and have worked hard to meet her challenge. So please pop over to the Imaginary Garden and give it a read.
Unsleeping, or Freezing, or Treading WaterFunny, your stitchin my side now achesunder my breastas your leprechaun voicechills to eskimo breath& washes out like sandon Popponesset Beach.Death comes so earlythis time of year--
Reposting this on Mark Kelliher's birthday. Also, International Pat Benatar Day. Miss you, Mark.
On a daywhen romance is obligatoryMy love for youstill’s far from ordinaryYou’re my rockin bad times & even worse timesWe’ll make itbecause we ignore all the signsKids these dayscould learn from old-farts like usTalk it throughthen get down for a happy (censored)Babe, you know it’s trueI’d be unloved & unhappy without you
Rescuecame shortfor this to happen:quicker tongue,and yourhand is sweaty,too.
Izy has the Real Toads writing erasure poems from local news stories. I couldn’t resist using this story of life imitating art (triple-dog dare ya!): Easthampton middle school student touches tongue to cold pole, gets stuck; freed by firefighters
Now that you’re ordinary,cozy upnext to someone whose indifferencemakes your heart go thunk thunk.Remember your extraordinarysuperstar days
for review when atrophied hopedrainsmost aspirations.Don’t bother with dreams anyway,as no one gives a flying fuckwhat happens to you.Can I get an amen?Guess this would be a great timefor knee-falling & begging for blessings.
|The Blessing Bringer by Lisa Graham|
I’m grateful that Grace has introduced we Real Toads to the hopeful, beautiful art of Lisa Graham.
It’s dark in the closet with the door closed.If I open it a crack,words will spill out,enough to gather & tuck into a nestfrom which I might take flight,soaringbecause I know return is not only expected,but desired.
Kerry asked the Real Toads to think about our creative spaces.