Front Page

Archive for March, 2010|Monthly archive page

A Walk With No Destination

In by Chris on March 30, 2010 at 11:43 pm

Over and under the street signs
Onto the sidewalk
Watch out for the gutters
Don’t get swept away
It’s the return of the walkers
Treading across the city
Who knows where they might look?
Chaotic aortic bodies
Dancing where regulations would have them hands-up
It’s a crisp morning
One with a sense of time
Open signs flipped against the light
Invisible walls grown from sidewalk cracks
And yet they come
Where they go
Reaching their paths into alleys and crosswalks
Searching for themselves
In a land filled with tracks
Finding is foreign
Where they step
Sprightly, haphazardly
Ever winding upwards


A Poem That Seemed Right When My Eyes Were Droopy, But Now Seems Dumb And Generic

In by Chris on March 27, 2010 at 8:58 am

My eyes are dry and
Full of sand
The wind has blown my tears
Across my cheeks and
Stung me with dust
What things have I seen
That my eyelids droop against my will
The world swirls
I try to think
As my vision sinks and
Pours out of tired holes
Colors blur
Without my eyes
Where can I go
Where will I wander
And what can I know
Under the skin of things
Beneath the bones
I sense a shape
A faceted feeling
Grown in like souls
My eyes are dry
With or without them
I might see

The Winds

In by Chris on March 26, 2010 at 10:32 pm

They start a great rushing noise somewhere above you or behind you. It grows and draws near; when you face it you can trace its madcap rush down the hillside as it sends the flattened tops of the trees into furies. In a split second it is upon you, widening your eyes, yelling in your ears, and catching you up and pushing you away. It lasts one symphonic moment, and then the receding eddies are left to tug you each in its own vain direction. The great mountain furies forever brew more and stranger winds to hurl down the valleys.

Ankle Pain

In by Chris on March 15, 2010 at 6:58 pm

My ankle felt a stab of pain as I got up from dinner tonight. I thought it strange; I couldn’t remember having hurt it during the day. I lay down and called to mind all the cures I could remember for phantom ankle pains. Spells, healing images, ancient stories of miracles – none could dissipate the pain, and soon my ankle had swollen. I could only hope that in sleep, healing dreams would come unbidden. The last thought I had was of a rumor I had heard – that certain people believed that material cures could heal the internalities of the body.


In by Chris on March 14, 2010 at 7:39 pm

An hour or two after the sunset – I couldn’t tell you exactly when – the electricity went out. I was lucky, for I was in my apartment with my family. Of course, when the lights suddenly flicked off, we arranged ourselves together in the living room to wait it out. In less than a minute, we were rendered immobile with the lack of light. When it came back, we heard we had been off for about two hours, and the blackout had covered the city. This kind of thing makes me wonder about times before electricity – how did our race survive?

Snail Trail

In by Chris on March 14, 2010 at 8:04 am

Underneath a smooth rock lives a slimy snail. But his shell is smooth. Every day he leaves his home to crawl over to his favorite rose bush. He loves to make his way up the stalk, squeezing himself between the thorns. And when he finally gets to them, the leaves are delicious! That’s life for him. Some days it is rainy and miserable; some days it is warm. Until one day he crawled out from underneath his rock like normal and saw something very strange. He had never seen anything like it. Craning his eye-stalks upwards, he saw that it

No Need to Adjust Reality

In by Lara on March 13, 2010 at 12:21 pm

Soft voices against hard beats and hard streets against soft feet and hard dreams against soft sheets when waking feels like dreaming and dreams float into memories and then it’s difficult to grind back into reality but it’s not even preferable, anyway because no one knows you there. And here, it’s perfectly acceptable that light switches open doors and doorknobs turn hands into claws, claws that gnaw and grind and grasp your thoughts like marbles out of a bag. And then the marbles roll off the varnished table onto the floor, wavy and fluid like water. No need to adjust.

Hangover, part II

In by Lara on March 13, 2010 at 12:20 pm

No, I don’t want to go for a walk. Yes my hangover is really that bad, and can you not just leave me alone to savor my miserable hungover existence? I don’t want to be happy and sunny right now. I’d actually love nothing more than to enjoy my self-pitying…well, self. My head feels as though it has been encased in wood and tiny splinters have pierced my brain so that everything is just fuzzy shards of this reality. And I guess it’s masochistic, but in some screwed up way, I’m laughing. There’s something kind of beautiful in being hungover.

Candy Store

In by Lara on March 13, 2010 at 12:20 pm

She worked in a candy store, which was funny because candy stores always made her nostalgic. But her childhood was perfect. It had all the friends she could have ever wanted, a really, very comfortable and nurturing home, and parents that rarely fought. And when they did, her mother would tell her that her father and she were like swans—mating for life. So she never worried about them getting divorced. No, her childhood was nothing like the candy store she worked in—all that processed, fake food, gaudy colors, and messiness, and fighting brats. No, her childhood was far from sticky.

Safari: Day 3

In by Chris on March 12, 2010 at 3:40 pm

“Is that…How lucky! OK, quiet everyone, we’ve happened upon one of the most fascinating types of trash in the Atacama. See how the tire has, over many years, entrenched itself in the dry desert soil. This allows it to capture smaller, wind-borne pieces of trash to waste away for years in its dark interior. Let’s see what we’ve got here. Hmm, Kool-Aid, Super 8, paper towel. Wait. What’s this? Amazing! A Baby Ruth wrapper! These candy bars are not consumed below the Mexican border, yet this one has migrated across an entire continent ending in this desolate spot…”