My Personal Biopic, in Black and White
It’s tonight again, presently well past midnight, and I have accomplished as much as anyone can in one day, am now too tired to read anything, and unfortunately, have no new movies to watch, so must relegate myself to this— the endless saga, more boring than an Andy Warhol film— “Sleep”—for example, And I don’t want to sleep!!! So I’m here again. Actually, I’m always here, shackled to my seat in the same screening room, nothing more than my own darkened skull, the concession stand selling only Scotch and ice, which I buy, suck on, bread and water, you know, but man cannot...
Read MoreThey Said I Couldn’t Be Real
They said I couldn’t be a real superhero because my breasts were too small and unperky. I could never fit the required uniform, and my hip-to-waist ratio didn’t conform to the fever pitch of the modern fan-boy’s favorite four-color dreams (not to mention that my lips are neither thick nor pouty and will never be either bee-stung or ruby-red like a certain Amazon queen’s). “But I can fly,” I said, quietly, not quite in quiet unburning tears. And they said, “So can birds and planes and neo-Nazi Zeppelins. It’s not the power that matters, but the...
Read MoreThe Spandex Spider
People don’t realize how lonely the super-life can be. No one to cook dinner or wash your clothes and your costume always in constant need. They don’t see the bruises, the scrapes, the scars. All they hear are the cheers, even when they’re hissing beneath their breath without an ounce of fear. They’ve never watched you eat alone without a mask, microwaving burritos that taste like plastic ash, never knowing your tongue never quite escaped Dimension MAX. They’ve never had to wake up in a strange lair with an atom-splitting headache, trussed upside-down, smelling...
Read MoreThe Road to Anvil Road
is clearly an ACME creation, arrived in pieces, with manual translatable to coyote. Three cliffs with tenuous ledges and a canyon trail clicked. Tab A’s into slot B’s completed ideal spot for high-speed avian ambush. Warning! Elevation: dangerous. The vertical rise distorts perspective, makes targeting alignment calculations skew. The configuration does not allow for wind effects or added weight of steel extras. One pressure change, a few too many Beep Beep’s, and Poof! you are the road-kill sandwich. Accordion bodied, arms and legs all that...
Read MoreInheritance
At my mother’s house Children’s laughter no longer rings through sunlit rooms A family of one has settled in But days are long here Nature bewitches Fall’s brilliant yellow leaves shine on rainy days The barrenness of winter doesn’t disappoint Spring’s lush green uplifts the darkest mood On muggy summer nights crickets hold concerts that lull me to sleep At my mother’s house I write mornings from my Haverford haven A collage of sentiments stain loose-leaf journals We’re both now free from the familial thunder In my mother’s house I finally have a vacation home Only two hours...
Read MorePlow
The plow drones through before dawn blinking amber, like an owl robbed by a cat strike of one eye and made to search for dinner face-aslant. Upstairs, that same light circumnavigates gray walls, accelerates through corners, as if afraid of being captured like the rings trapped by the pair of swollen knuckles dozing there beneath Egyptian cotton sheets. The forecast didn’t auger this much snow, as it also sometimes fails to warn of cats with razors mounted on their front paws. A renewed search for a missing doll awaits, ideal proportions and runway face dropped from a backpack somewhere...
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