Here are this week’s selections.
The vowel condemned to exist
next to a lengthy disturbance
of rowdy consonants
The hazy faint sunshine
and the timid shadow
that scurries behind me
Tonight in apartment 419
The naïve The restless The I wish I had stayed home
party in uneasy proximity
Recipe for trouble: Boil up some hot tempers
Vent the steam, condense and bottle the liquid
Drink it and start things all over again
A beautiful day
flashes past beneath us We the oblivious
passengers in this high-flying airplane
I left out the salt in the soup
patchy shadows passing over the moon
the clouds a cargo of feather pillows
burst and scattered across the sky
What lovely day
orbits around the sun
the day you are born
late at night the woman
curdles up with a good book
of blood-chilling ghoul stories
This tiny island
This wondrous fish who guards it
How I love the world the baby’s bath toys make real
your imagination is a pauper
pouring the ideas it can scarcely afford to waste
into a bucket full of holes
The foghorn bellows again. I look in my purse.
No ship at sea but instead the phone
alerting me to the danger of your incoming call
in my nightmare I talk to you
but only through a locked window
you resurrected fly I swatted dead this morning
the pig luxuriates
The freeze-the-blood-in-your-veins novel
I read before bed. The three blankets under which
I scream in my dreams.
The cold moonscape of
not soon enough
is a kinder place than you might think
Remember that movie where the actor wore a
woolly coat like my ex-husband’s bathrobe
Bleated like him too? I quit his fan club after that.
A warlock wastes a whistle
A turtle tangles twine A sleep-walking sheep snores
It’s hard to concentrate here in the open-plan office
the man ruminates
chewing over indignities and his bag of pretzels, both
the bartender sighs
fidgeting in the hazy dark
vile nightmares ready to go
massed in ranks and plans of attack
Rogues purr, cracking jokes,
but it’s the afterlife
singing around the burning firewood with a
yearning swift and strong when memories rise
the guitars vanish everyone sobs and I think
What a wretched lot of wet blankets we have at this campfire
zombies: the rambling broods
of the raving rotting brainless
how I love their intellectual honesty
no matter what day it is now
only a few hours ago
it was a different day
8 thoughts on “Little Vines 5/6/22”
I very much relate to #5812 and #5818. My husband does not understand why I find things like crime thrillers and horrors – whether books or movies – to be so relaxing and soothing but it has always been the case that I find those genres chill me out. #5826 made me laugh!
Thank you. I have always liked horror stories and crime thrillers (though I admit to feeling like more and more of today’s works less engrossing maybe because I am not as interested in books focusing on characters in their 20’s or 30’s, I feel too far from that world). There is nothing like being in bed in a very quiet house late at night reading….scary stories….!!!
You are so right about the struggle to identify with protagonists who are at a different stage in life. I have found that too.
I think I’ve been to that party. And the last one is perfect. (K l
I have definitely been to that party and in fact I think pretty much any party I go to I have some period of time at least where I just want to be at home and everything feels strange…And the last one, I wrote it kind of flippantly and then I realized…it makes a lot of sense to me. I’m going to try to remember it as advice to myself.
5824 is relevant to me right now. Best one can hope for sometimes in terms of justice served.
As I get older, more and more I realize that getting things squared up here on earth is not possible, so…I encourage the afterlife to take care of things if possible!
I’ve tried making peace with that idea as well, but get impatient!
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