salty sour

Words projected, ejected
As though you were unable to contain
The taste of fury, salty sour on your tongue —
good riddance, yes
get rid of your demons —
was it worth putting your
money where your mouth is
only to choke on the bitterness?

ours or theirs

Don’t make us cheerleaders
Don’t demand we look a certain way
Don’t have us wear a suit of patriarchy
Designed for ogling and locker room culture

Don’t demand from us
How we should dress
How we should behave
How we should talk
How we should pleasure
Or whom.

Grief’s Eternal Day

Once upon a time in a stainless-steel dream
Two famelicose smiles devoured a dead scream
Chewing on its gristle, hollowing out its dune
Crumbling stray cinders into a solid prune

In a withering wilting world upon a lyre
I smudged scorched faults with a disdain
That belied my quaking waffle’s refrain
Festering, blistering, seeping sputtering fire

Mother and daughter

The mother smiled,
the daughter too;
some innate and involuntary reaction
to a life unfiltered
spent sharing love and laughter
and secrets whispered in soft voices.
Souls that no generation could divide,
a togetherness
that most would never know.

the morning commute.

Faces slips through
the cracks between
train carriage windows.
One by one
Three by four
until the blur of bodies
And rising voices
Become one moving being,
Inhaling and exhaling
the excesses of the city.

Tanzen wir, oder?

Flashing lights illuminate
sweaty, exuberant faces
and I tilt my head back
reaching my arms to the ceiling
and examining my fingers
as they intertwine
and create their own dances,
as though aware of some other rhythm.

Tick tick

Time
slips through
my grasping fingers
as I search
for something tangible
to pin my spindling
thoughts to,
caught like threads
and tangled up.