Mysterious bruises
The leftover lasting flush
Of a rush of blood

Nocturnal thumb prints
Fumbling sharp corners in the dark
Shadowed hallways
Yield sly epidermal inconsistencies
Tell-tale mottled trajectories
A grasp
Tight grip
Memories of insistence
Wrist emblazoned

The dark purples
And sickly yellows of a phantom
Soft gasp
How prettily thighs pantomime
Birthmark bouquets



Overly eager platelets coalesce
Into an eat-your-eyes-out testimony
Of shame somehow saccharine

Fortune smiles
An apple a day for the anemic plague
Torment will always trump the wretched

Wrapped in a daydream solidified
While watching blue devils die as they dance
Across the graves of foolish notions
That all nightmares are nightmares

Real catastrophes only bloom
From altogether different seeds
Yet damnable waxing
Demands a wane full to bursting
With crustless whitebread shades of beige

Hot spit on entropy
What the fuck is this feeling I feel in my fingertips?
Sick and filthy with
A disgusting reduction to tentative touching
A most unnatural disaster taught on repeat
Learn righteous pining less manifest

Like old newsprint fading
Rundown ink begging pardon
Louder than any heralding headline
My skin’s diminishing disgrace screams:


Something important once happened here.


Professor: “Haven’t read something like this in a very long time (1980’s “language poetry”). Too ambiguous for my taste but the language is amazing.”

Some classmates got the spirit of the ambiguity. I love that everyone who read it had to grapple with it and had a different take and brought their own meaning to it. It’s supposed to be a little confusing while leaving the reader with a sense of disease, the unmistakable feeling that something is not quite right. I love writing like this. I was really wary of overdoing the alliteration and un-alliterated quite a bit throughout writing it for fear of laying it on too thick but everyone said they through I struck a good balance in the end.

One comment that I especially appreciate: “I like this because the abstract nature leaves it open to interpretation and turns it into something personal for the reader.”

*image not my own