Corporeal Love.

She would writhe
struggling in her form as the stolen breath came seeping from her ribs bending; bending around her beating heart.
Her mother warned her about this moment in her life.
The clock above her above the headrest above the mahogany headrest,
ticked ever so slowly like cold molasses dripping from the four to the five and dripping down to the sixth mark to show her that only ten seconds had passed.
god god God?

Her hips
her luscious hips
we swore her hips were like water rippling violently in every direction.
Toward the stars.
Towards Ursa Minor.
Dropping down slowly to Argentina.
all were witness to this potentially beautiful moment where she loses everything.

This was all just for fun
Blowing the flame from the candle, for its luminescence stretched into every deep crevice and corner of the room
until her shriek killed the moment;
how terrible of her! Doesn’t she understand?

“Ouch ouch don’t ouch no.”

Can you
Lay with her and ask her anything?
She will tell you that she was studying to be an RN before flying to London for a year,
and that she is terrified to losing her baby brother and sister because-
“Ouch. Please. no.”
Stroke the strands of hair upon the very, absolute top of her delicate head
at the top of the fontanel because
She loves it.

So soon?
It’s only (insert hour) because the sun is not up and her arms are
and the men put on their shirts and button their slacks and sling their ties around the neck like garbs
like trophies
like emperor Caesar dazzling triumphant upon the chariot waving amongst the bodies of the coliseum.

Red doors shut in front of her
She walks to the couch to touch it with her face
Gripping the arm of the velvet couch to find something pure.
Her stomach churned.
The man had left.
Corporeal love, where did you go?

Tagged , , , , , , ,


The crimson doors to
your crimson house
blow open.
Exhale as time wanes into you.

This is not an homage.
It is not a poem in dedication,
to your loving memory.
It is a declaration for you:
To abandon your gold earrings;
The rusting metal hoops hanging to your bone-deep shoulders-
Your blooming lavender dress-
Your augmented heart and anemic mind–
In the midst of dirtied streets, cacophonous bells resonate,
vibrations fading within the walls of the shattered houses surrounding you.

A face drowning slowly in disappointment and lament.

Confine the widening sky to your panorama
Created in the name of you.
Coalesce over coffee.
Adorn your amber hair with dying ivy.

and you still proclaim this to be your glory.

Anglican chants come from a Heaven held on high.
Angels singing over the plains,
“Gloria, In excelsis Deo!”
Come down to Bethlehem to the muttering streets,
Ravaged with the dark and the poor and the lonesome.
Back bar dealings on bended knees.
We come to thy manger to eat, and to reconcile.

“My body is your vessel.”
Plagues dance from hand to mouth.
We have come so fucking far just to be destroyed
by this?
“Look, do you take card for these transactions?
I only got credit, so this’ll have to do.”

-Dazzling, dancing red roses,
I will Luve thee still, my dear.
Until we realize this is all conditional,
And our time has come so near.-

Bow your head.
Ask for the omens and ah-men’s
so Friday nights are a bit more enthralling.
Open your mouth and let the words come flying out with panicked wings.
The half moon is on the rise with lips shut tight,
until you can count stars with your bare, soiled hands.

It’s the dead of night, m’darling
into those glowing lights and pulsing rhythms.
Share your new found glory with the strangers
who will take it for themselves.
Come back a changed soul,
ravaged from the days uncouth.
Wine and dine, wine and dine.
Darkened rings under your eyes
becoming darker while your hands shake.


Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Retreat (Edit)

You will find yourself slowly retreating
Like a ghost does from this earth
After settling its haunting pains.
From the high fires and the glowing, splintering embers
The fallen, wide-reaching monoliths create a canopy
Over the ashen skies of San Francisco.
Clouds roll in like mildew does from the blade,
Bringing in an ocean mist
Lamenting on your lip of your windowsill.

This fire will subside soon,
As most fires do.

I will go to the shores of eternity and build a boat,
Departing from the sinking sand.
Gripping the wooden panels and push,
My feet slipping and falling out from under me,
Tumbling minute after minute after minute into the sea,
Lost in the tides,
I will settle to the ocean floor,

One day
In your vibrant youth that is quickly fading
With each hair and wrinkle you push to the side of the bathroom sink,
You will stumble into a room sullen and opaque from the deadening dust
Swirling around in its own stagnant atmosphere,
And you,
(Yes, you)
Will see the somber faces of your cousins and aunts and uncles.
They will pat you on the back,
Give you condolences
That the world,
Regardless of this catastrophe and all the ones to follow,
They tell you with trembling words
“It’ll be ok.”

You will lose,
Slowly, at first,
And then quicker than you can handle with your typical gravitas.
It will tear down the painted veils and the busy Devonshire tapestries,
Ripping at the veins and floorboards,
Especially at the column of your unwearied support;
The support that created you from scratch-
That taught you justly with a chilling iron fist, opening to a warm embrace-
That reckoned your faults, only to save you from the brink-
Until there is nothing left of you
But flowing tears penetrating the cracks of your aged hands.

Our faces mold to the fine contours of the life that crafted our years,
Bringing the flimsy jawline to meet the deep-hanging neck.
Deep caverns in your once taut skin
Signify that your days are numbered, kid.
“Did you use them wisely?”

Men and women languish in the room
As their understanding exceeds no further than the hardly-ethereal;
The lightness of their being dancing on whims.
Lilacs twist and dance as the sun arches in time.
They float.
There are no anchors that tether them to this world
Freely believing that they will ascend in
Their moment of clarity.

The Bourgogne into the alleyways
Of the Champs Elysees.
Back to the hostel.
Years later
We will ask if
You remember what
The streets looked like at 2
On a brisk Saturday morning,
if the street lights
were gold
or fulvous
As they radiated majestically upon the granular pavement your clumsy heels scathed,

God damn it,
You won’t remember.

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Stop me before I love again.


Six Word Story

Turning twenty-five. Half way done.

Tagged , , ,

Delayed Hellos

WE thrive on delayed hellos.

Abbreviated breaths linger in the cold.

You cling-

I cling-

At the thought that this could all come collapsing

Like the gravity of time upon the oak trees as they fall

And decompose in the forest,

Eaten away until fungus tears at the bark like

Hyenas do the flesh.

Shiver at the thought.

Your hands are so cold.

Gaze into the coming Autumn blessing us slowly

A red haze approaches with a deliberate lack of haste.

We become frostbitten as the waxed Summer

Quickly wanes into the archives of our diminishing minds.


That these moments

(Sitting on a bench in a circular park

Staring amorously at one another

Wishing that the thoughts purveying through our veins

Could touch briefly

Just so we knew–

–that we really knew)

Will disintegrate

As we are merely casual observers

Distancing with each hour.

I tell you to not worry

Ask that you to not shade your eyes

Or hide your face in the crevice of your arm

Continuously enveloping yourself into yourself.

You are beautiful

As you are carried from the chaos of the world

To me.

A flash in your mind goes off

This second is captured and discarded.

Disposed polaroids of our abbreviated past

Printed our surprised and jovial expressions

Just in case, if you forget me

In this expiring light

Recreated only in the re-expansion of our universe

Should we live once more.

I hope we do.

I hope we do.

Tagged , , , ,

In Tandem

I have come to you at a strange time in your life-
Ash rubs clean from your bronzed skin in the harshing gail.
Your loose tears fall from above me
When you speak so freely of yourself.
You cling
As if there was nothing left
In these cauterized wounds
Left barren from the fire.

Could you feel this
on your own?

The diamonds cascade at your feet
Signifying nothing.
Escape into the vast wilderness armed with a dagger and blind hope
Pointing true to the north you prescribe to
As you swim alone through the empty fields.

“They pour whiskey on everything.”

Stumble through the bright lights of the desert
Placating your compatriots twenty paces ahead.
Mumble incoherently about your lost loves who still creep
And weave in and out of the gap of your ulna and radius,
Coming to a halt at your lonesome fingertips
Still wet,
Still dripping with saltwater and gin.

The angels and heralds have evacuated the room;
Sleep on a bed watched over by crystalline chandeliers.
Sweat profusely
While you clutch with the might of your sunken past
For something-
Something beautiful
Something present
Something that reminds you of your stronger self,
The you never beaten down with the voices of discontent
Chipping away at the breast bone you hid under
Lavender sheets and crossed arms gripping the other,
Leaving you wondering,
Oh love-of-mine.

I adore you in the sunshine.
I adore the ash that falls steadily from your disappointed face
The rivers that come crashing when your heart opens with a fervor.
Nothing compares to your stifled heart singing,
Emerging from a cage,
Decades old,
Coming un-done in tandem.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Ardor Left to Itself

I am surprised to see you.
In the light
you I were much too excited
to sleep soundly
in your cottage of jagged bones and trysts.
Caught within a singular hour
crooning in a high-pitched hum, you love it all
asking if today is amazing
arms extending past the front door, over the patio.

Turn and turn until the folds of your dress
wrinkle in a familiar fashion.
We dance
you turn simply with a pirouette
dalliance among the wilting dahlias
have you heard this all before?

Wasting the hours we have left with
the same sycophantic speeches of
adoration, copulation, and the such.

I love you baby did he say that to you
did he tell you that
you meant so much
as the two of your stared into each others eyes,
envisioning distances stretching into nothing,
to be left in a heaped mess,
humming yourself the songs of your father’s warmest embraces and
your mother’s caring heart?

We wave desperately at the oceans,
only to dream about our end
our lives
our lives topple to the ground in one rigid motion,
full of gravity
caving slowly.

I will turn to stone tomorrow afternoon
when you disperse back into this forsaken universe.
Angled angled angled down
past the cleave and bend of your frail back
oh oh oh oh the words I say
the words he said
we all say that you are,
that you are beautiful and that we love your short sundress
even before your words flutter upon our ears like drunk fruit-flies
and we bat them away with our open paws
and devour.
Wipe away the blood and skin
from wrist to elbow
we are primal beasts
you are the prey.

Let us speak until our dead bodies become colder
become colder in the frozen tundra
crawling on purple, bruising hands and knees
for bread and dirty water .
I thought
(the last time I saw you,
you had something in your hands,
grasping a lily,
or maybe a clutch of lavender,
up upon the shores of your mother’s staircase
abandoned by the men you loved.)
we cannot save one another until the regal and handsomer have had their way with you
and I,
staring into the shallow gaps of your tears and
confessional moments in the night,
learn that I was never meant for you.
Someone, (I believe it was myself),
told me that I’d be sorry-

We will become a tangled wreckage of loathing and carnage
and the children will no longer bear
to witness the catastrophe of us.
they will smash their compass
(the one we handed)
and set sail.

shall we proceed
unimpeded like our mothers and fathers did
or did not do.

I do not understand.

Sit back relax this drink is just for tonight this night is just tonight do you not know where you’ve been wash up in this basin and clean yourself up you’re a mess god why didn’t you go to Harvard and be a strong woman.

Everybody Leaves Without Saying Goodbye

Bones wrapped in
Oak casings.
Run with your mother
And father. Distress comes
When you finally forget their names.

His hand shakes
Holding the New York Times
Claims that it wavers in the wind.
Swallow, swallow your food.
Trapped in a fate.

Sometimes the men drink
Too much
And the women drink
Too much
She falls upon her back in the cul-de-sac.
Jovial men and women procreate
To their shadows, emotions,
Copulate and metabolize,
Sharing their most ideal faces.
And they forget.

Hours and hours
Years and years
Elapse without a word
Calling. Calling
Until the roving clouds shade their eyes,
Grasping at the mist floating
in this somber morning
when we thought we loved.

Maneuver her silence.
Discover his flesh and bones
and nothing more.
He is nothing more
Bed sores and thread and menagerie
and a dim light from the window over the street
pining for

Who are
Young and virile
Dancing upon the facade
Gazing into the lengthy Boston streets

He sighs into the window
She begs for another home
as this reminds her of
shattered windows
and screams from the foyer.

The moon cleans the hallways clean,
Dispels the disbelief;
Dispels your remembering
Drowns the shaking from your roots
Until they’re done waiting for you.

Tagged , , , , , , ,


I would fend off time while holding you in my arms
As the dust,
Visible only in the rays of light that radiate down at an angle,
Clings for dear life to your aching body.
Your skin
Folds in upon itself-

And you cry,
Staring in the mirror,
As it slowly splits from the center,
Asking me (shaking) where it all went.

You silently scream for the days
When you would jump and dance with carelessness.
Screaming in the park near your father’s home
Pulling lavender and lilacs from the gardens
That lined the open path.

In the new-born mornings
I would brush the dying light from your stomach
Clutching it in our struggling hands.

I just want us to be alone.

Gasping, the silence that protrudes into our concave words
Hollowed until the sun may rise
On some unfortunate morning,
For this too shall pass.

But then you sing the words so starkly out of tune.
Shuck and jive in the presence of strangers.
Doo-wop doo-wop
That thing
And now you’re in love.

Gazing from the kitchen window,
Past the potted plants that line the sill,
I see you reminiscing in the garden,
Tracing the splintered planter box,
Staring down at the mounds of dirt;
Discover your foreshadow.

Remember London?
Remember the Avenues des Champs-Elysees
After the Winter rains would push the chestnuts down
Onto the sidewalk in front of us,
And you would grab one and hold it in your diminutive hand,
Only to plant it later
So we can create something that will last?
For we will not last,
Longer than this tree,
For this is fact,
And this is truth.

We grasp to little drops of hope
Fallen from the browned shingles,
Evaporating slowly as the light cannot sear it fast enough.

I swear
One day
This will all become better.
You will arrive at a hasty realization
After standing stagnant in a lavender field
When the moon’s weakened light
Teeters on the crest of each wave
Slowly enveloping the other enveloping the other,
Its iridescence faintly gracing each vanishing top
Into the mouth of another and another.

And I
Similar to you
Will walk into this unforeseen circumstance
Creating and destroying with ingenious hands.
Come to a realization in some somber morning-

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Space to Create

Riley Amos Westbook

A fantasy Author with too much free time on his hands.

The Girl in the Little Black Dress

Natalie. 17. Fashion Blogger.


The War on Terror Begins in the Home

Optimistic Kid

Be Somebody

Hart Helps

explore ways to win the wars waged within the mind

Reject Reality

The world as I see it, according to myself.

Be Like Water

Music, Film and Life


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,725 other followers

%d bloggers like this: