queen

on steady ant legs, the last of the small betrayals
slides through a crack in the kitchen wall,
white crumbs of trust borne by powerful mandibles;
a stream of dim lights flowing into the corner of a marquee.

 

carousel

the brass house key lying on the kitchen table
remembering the heat from her hands

 

parable

she always keeps
the room dark,
calls it her “cave.”

i am perfectly still
as i watch her
dangle the mouse by its tail.

a pair of iridescent eyes
patiently trace the descent
from below.

the blur of fangs,
a whip crack,
and the shuffling of wood chips.

the mouse convulses,
mouths an unheard scream,
and then is still.

jaws unhinge to accommodate
the meal, sliding, still alive,
into a warm, black space.

i can barely see her
smiling at me
in the dimly lit room;

smiling at her mouse.

 

Endless

The ceiling pulls itself closer in my room
and the moonlight abscess casts a blue
hue on every cold corner, the stars
leaning in to look through the window, eyes
following the spinning, hissing record
in circles, hands marching around my watch.

The T.V. is dead but there's plenty to watch
through the window of my warm room,
friction from the slow, steady grind of the record.
Sunlight snakes in to rest atop the blue
sheets on the bed and cautiously eyes
the approaching dusk and its menagerie of stars.

They arrive on tired wings, and these new stars
count the small notches on my watch,
the fatigue of their flight weighs heavily on their dark eyes.
The final scales of sunlight slither into another room,
forked tongues flicking, tasting for the blue,
hissing in tune with the needle on the record.

Something falls and breaks, skips the record
and startles the feathered sleep of the stars,
their brittle wings twitch in anticipation of the soft blue
horizon crawling out of the hills. They watch
me quietly from their perches around the room,
a pleading for rest beating against the backs of their black eyes.

I can't get them out of my head, those eyes, her eyes, my eyes.
I maintain the circadian rhythm through flipping the same record
and pacing from end to end of the narrow, shrinking room.
Maybe the music helps lessen the weight of these stars
as they spread softly sparkling wings and wearily watch
as the fierce serpents of light snake through thin blinds from the blue.

I almost remember where she lay on the bed, her mood as blue
as that impatient morning sky, as ocean-distant, ocean-deep as her eyes.
I almost remember where I sat, maybe across the room, to watch
her as she woke to the sound of the needle being replaced on the record,
the dust from the celestial, crystalline wings of the departed stars,
like dew, clinging to every surface in the warming, narrow room.

I can't leave this room until the fading blue
welcomes back those stars with their timeless, tired eyes
to listen to my record and read the small, white hands of my watch.

 

Temptation

He steps onto the elevator
and she's already standing in the corner,
leaning on her hands.

He presses "8"
and falls into the opposite wall,
eyes rolling around
on the dirty tile floor.

The ill florescence flickers on
peeling, fake wood paneling.
He feels her watching,
can no more deny
the weight of her gaze
any more than he can
the small, steady pull
at the soles of his feet.

He stoops to pick up his eyes
with shaking hands.
He slowly wipes them on his grey shirt
before dropping them in his jeans pocket.

She starts to hum his favorite song
as he hurries out the still-opening door
onto steady ground.