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She Writes

Panic Attack

Porcelain choking in stained memory

The metaphorical heart
Burnt in frozen grasp
As the stale air, travels, labored
far from memories,
moments of horror caught
stagnant
dried flower pressed to glass,
page bent with precision in repeat,
creased to obscurity
Slow motion, a throat closed,
porcelain choking in stained memory
Hand, shaken, weak in will, strong in pretense
Torn page, shredded self
The one who stops the monster

(2014)

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Cory Garcia Scarlet Lips
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with aching, dull shard

it is a numbing a piercing of the proverbial heart with aching, dull shard a cold depth swallowing lungs contract, fluid-filled
waning never was

the taste of purple inundation eatery fingers flowing in scratching clutch we hold
 1
Stalemate

starlight sings silver catalyst for dreams the woosh of the window unit roars with smokey tang on my lips, I shi… shoulder to door pane, perceptions…
The stories end

all the poetry inside, the curtain… dropping dusty upon the frailty of my words the world, too old my thoughts, too young, too same
mine

there is neither peace nor dream in a day. truth spattered, canvas inundated. bubbles fluid, liquid no longer...
Simply a blank page

it was a blank page. Her hardened gaze caused no words to appear. No flourishing language to embellish the explanation.No distractions to explain the lack of written monologue. Not even...
this moment sparkles

there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally
Rise

He speaks with a purpose that dema… with soft, soliloquy of word to sh… the emulsification, the blood of b… and women carrying the weight of m… Storyteller. Anthropologist.
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my heart has rooms that sigh

my heart has rooms that sigh filled with dust of disuse, of mis… Waking world
I count them, and remember

I list their names on my heart Count them... ad nauseum, infinity… They, who sew my shroud. I list their names on my heart They, who released it
 1
mirror, mine

his exit, his entrance stars in solemn shades countdown in pink orbs we, burning out suns commencing solitude
The skin around their eyes, a canyon

She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…
I dream the taste of purple

eyes awaken, asleep. I dream the taste of purple I dream the touch of you. I dream of tall grass fields on my… shuddering in magnificent breath.
 1
Always the cliche

and in that tear, everything broke every shard of pain, every loss the losses yet to come her voice, her heart caught
we

for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we



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