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I am the Iron

These Latex Gloves
Are so damn tight on my hands
That I don’t feel my skin
Beneath. When I open my fingers
Until they pull back almost forming
A bowl
With my wrinkled knuckles
At the bottom,
I hope that the material will rip before
My own skin, but, instead,
I hear the joints creak.

These Latex Gloves
Are so thin
That the hair in between my knuckles
And my fingertips
Has grown through,
Only the pale of the plastic
Proves to my eyes that I am even wearing them.
The wrist is tight and
I can’t slide my fingers underneath.
I pried a knife underneath
But the blade slipped too far
And blood seeped from the p***k
So close to my veins that
I never tried again.

These Latex Gloves
Have driven me mad.
I found a curling iron beneath the sink and
I turned it to full heat.
The metal looks as cool and shiny as it always has.
Only the glow of the light on the hilt indicates any different.
I take a breath and feel the alcohol of the spilled cleaning supplies
Burn off the iron and into my nose.
I hold it away.
I know it will hurt,
But my fingers run numb over the rubber of the grip
And I wrap my hand around the steel.

These Latex Gloves
Turn to liquid as they cook beside my skin.
I can feel the heat paint my palm red beneath,
But I don’t let go.
Instead, I rotate it and watch the latex pull from my hand,
Bubbling and seared to the iron.
I turn the heat off, but don’t pull my hand away.
The steel is still warm, and feels perfect against my
Blistered palm.

Winter's whore

Studded with russet stones
Autumn arrives --
redolent of soil and spruce
(and the slow decay of summer dreams)
to a city that teems with the recluse, with
women who weave men's pride
snaring their fragile hopes
to be ground down, made white,
and snorted.

Winter’s whore
shivers with delight
passing beneath the shadow of a skyscraper;
its host of shattered windows frame haggard souls,
children's eyes growing dim with the light.

She watches a sky consumed by darkness
and lopes alongside on all fours,
trailing gaudy trinkets as she harvests.

A slack-jawed beast
leading the master to feast.

Past Life




Pretty Pretty, walks the night,
Pretty Pretty, fears the light,
Pretty Pretty, has no soul,
Pretty Pretty,black as coal.

Step in shadow, left a husk,
killed in moments after dusk.
Step in shadow, you are prey,
Pray you live to see the day.

Sleep the street and see the dark,
Death becomes a lyric lark.
Walk in shadow as the guild,
See the war that leaves them killed.

See the flow from wound and neck,
Was that your friend? Well you best check!
Members gone and guild will fail,
Best you fight to tooth and nail.

Run you can't, the war will find,
To haunt your your dreams and haunt your mind.
Watch your friends and watch the death!
Watch their eyes and hold your breath!

Join or die you cannot flee,
Watch the death in front of me.
Run you can't the war will find,
See the life I left behind.