Archive for September, 2009

The Blues

Tuesday, September 29th, 2009

The metal sheds sickly teal paint, peeling off the lattice of the corroded cabinet like a dead skin husk to expose the crumbling grime of the desk beneath. Flecks like rusty snow obscure the faint blue lines that span the pages of my notebook, railroad tracks traveling direct, left to right, perfectly parallel through dark [...]

Furnished

Monday, September 28th, 2009

This old couch has dignity threaded through mustard yellow fiber and woven in walnut brown thread. It reigns over the room. The coffee table kneels in supplication, the plant at its side bows deferent green stalks. Even the sun crowns it in the morning. This old couch is newly arrived, rescued from a dingy basement [...]

We Walk

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

We walk through the narrow streets of Chinatown at midnight. They reek of yesterday’s fish. Our sneakers squash wet newspaper into concrete crevices to mix with dirty noodles and moldy grains of rice. We walk through Soho at one a.m. and weave between the glittering stiletto heels and jeans gripping thighs among green neon signs [...]

Thermodynamics

Wednesday, September 9th, 2009

The sweater grates against my skin, charcoal fibers hugging heat. It is too warm in the shop – the coffee sliding down my throat stokes the heat trapped in my clothes. “Give me a trigger,” I say, “I need a poem” so my friend lifts his face to the ceiling, eyes squinted, and gobbles, his [...]

Injury

Monday, September 7th, 2009

A furry little creature has crawled into my ear. He navigates the canal, slips between the hammer and the anvil, clawing his way in with his feet in the stirrup. His soft coat traps sound, muffling it in his brown pelt. I am left in silence. He squats in the passage and his heartbeat plays [...]

Precipitation

Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009

Blackberry juice stains the clouds crackling above high-rise spires. They squirt sugary spurts on my window (which I recently washed, digging into the city’s grime). And now, despite all my work, juice plops on the glass, inching down the panes, making a grubby jam spread upon the asphalt.