. hugging dead girls .

my offer - i'll deliver you small bits of minimalist prosery, you take them and open your head a little ... let your own story in. you tell those stories in your heads, behind the wheel, turning back your bed, sitting at your desk, we won't call it theft.

- be a whimsy -

... there's a dusty trail of slapped faces burnt homes broken intentions poverty and wastelands left behind her, tracks in cement and sands ...

"... it's all about the last word." Her eyes jittering, jam-citied, hyped ripe thing sitting shadowed. "Oh?" my dismissive passing wipe swipe. "Howz that?" She's really kranked fingers tapping tapping a small rivulet of sweat and she snaps a finger at that open-space where nobody sits. "Lemme tell you ...

. language.

as they have done

to the carbon caverns

top torn mountains

of our enterprise

so they do now

to our ink language

stripping words

man woman

girl boy

faith belief individual

carbon smoke ink

sanitized

They will play tricks on you, on your need to feel safe, in a world they engineered to frighten you ...

male bilateral dis-symmetry

.shades of violence.

display stripes

of impropriety

Venetian striped

hatred in heart

... remember to favorite yourself every day every day you are your favorite that you never offer in denial cling to your favorite favorite ... attached music for insomniacs whose hands do not shake ...

... when a cancer takes over a normal cell's gene sequence it frequently cascades replication of that cell itself in the brain this can lead to mysteriously functioning new neural clusters, metastasize my mid brain spin new circuitry wind around build me up cluster buttercups chain chain chain membranes ...

is this a forbidden topic of amusement and poetry? is this somehow much too much for elaborations? does your brain leap from frog sections?

... the sprig-time chirp of the tree frog triune brain skitters skyward laying claim laying claim in pelvic thrust in grunts at high pitch...

... clasp grip twerk and jerk your froggy parts baybee try unity triune brainery love me wet frog brain self ...

... mystery poetry of black on black emitting no radiation no visible radiation no echoing sounds vibration no no no quiet still stuff ...

... let us chorus in our departing parts sweet flows sweet flows sweet descending stairways hormones sweet sweet we ourselves all chorus ...

... write a song of lovely chemical harmonies to the disparate parts of your coronal tissues ...

She is falling into madness  ...

... she had learned patience, oh the cost, she had learned patience ...

i'm with my ghosts again

... to be alone, no remaining feeling save that maintained in bone, drift gone hope, love, sensibilities; life in dreams, being ghost ...

You are on a city street and a woman walks up to you; "I'm sorry for this but they now think you know me. We have to run or die."

You are on a city street and a woman walks up to you; "Kiss me, my husband hasn't been paying attention enough."

You are on a city street and a woman walks up to you; "Okay the money is ready, I've made reservations for France, are you ready?"

You are on a city street a woman walks up to you; "I'm sorry for the past few years, I have a hotel room waiting, I want to make this work."

You are on a city street, a woman walks up to you; "When that public phone rings don't answer it." She takes your hand and stands waiting.

You are on a city street, a woman walks up to you a cell in her hand. "It's for you" she says.

You are on a city street, a woman walks up to you; "Take that man's briefcase and run into that alley I'll be waiting there for you."

You are on a city street and a woman walks up to you; "The house burnt down last night, I made it out."

You are on a city street in the afternoon, a woman behind you says "The light has changed we can cross now dear." You stand still, staring.

The guy across the bar is staring into his drink, he looks up. With lighting there are only glints where his eyes are. "Hey Bob." "Hey M. Where ya been M?" Bob's a drunk, a regular, long sad stories we all know. "Don't rightly know Bob, mostly standing on the street with strange women." "Yeah I done that, when I had th' money."

... hugging dead girls ...

She ate a train.

She baked her brain.

She met a sidewalk.

She practiced a swan dive.

She danced with lead.

She burnt her bed.

She shaved her veins.

She took her meds.

She swerved the wrong way.

She swam with rocks.

She turned angel.

She bonged the exhaust.

She called monopoly on it all.

She moved into the garden.

She built her Gazebo™.

She water danced with flowers.

She invoked her ghost.

She made her mate a widower.

She walked through a window.

She left the lonely.

She entered the light.

She cooked her final dinner.

She ironed the wrinkles from her life.

Note: I adore the poet author Daphne Gottlieb, I thank her for the concept derived from her poem/compilation “Kissing Dead Girls”.

© Amanda 2015
Image: "beneath the surface." by © 2014