This week’s Little Vines.
you sure made a mess of things
trying to take out your own wisdom teeth
As the only intelligent part of your body
I say you’d better leave them where they are
the leftover secrets no one cared about
broken into fragments –
goodness, they are still quite tasty
sick in bed
then he got well
That’s the whole story. What were you hoping to hear?
the saboteur of my comfort and my sanity
the necromancer down the street
from his living room he slowly rolls my hair in curlers
scraping the bobby pins across my scalp.
they blame us how they blame us.
we really need the rain
let everyone else take their chances
they said. we really need the rain.
is giving off
quite a blue glow. Cover those kids’ ears.
Good evening sir
the voice recedes
I realize the ghost can see me.
Haunted forest…tripped on a tree root in the frosty mist…
a closer look… no, it’s fingers clutching at my ankle.
Just as I thought. Will they ever learn any new tricks?
Made the trip on foot
that’s what those phonies said?
My eye. They don’t even have real feet.
the forces of gravity proceed to their next victim:
adult male, carrying packages, trips on stairs
OK, they say. We’ll take it from here.
secrets fall like sticks of gum
from my mother’s purse
carelessly left open
she’s sheepish and cringing at the slightest reminder
and these idle gossiping neighbors make sure
she’s doing a whole lot of sheepish and cringing
zip I run the line of stitches
up the fabric and zip
it never fails. A dress appears.
you tortured pink icing
into lopsided roses
and now they are meting out some pain of their own
the jingle bedfellow door voice code detect
phenomenon data informed configuration
meaning: I thought I heard someone downstairs
I woke my husband and told him to go check
a seat in the middle school auditorium
a headache steadily getting worse
the saxophone quartet continuing its search for the melody
the story involved
a handful of topaz beads
mistaken for vitamin caplets
the children have grown so much, you said
in the yard the leaves grimace in the wind
in the house the vanished years sag around us
A moderate-price bottle of perfume
too much success
in using it. Teenage girls
giggling under the streetlight.
the tube of paint bloated with vermilion pigment
belches out a malignant landscape
dares you to say a word
The radio tower transmitting from our side yard
Scanning with a sub-harmonic atonal frenetic beam
The moon ignites. Toasted green cheese.
you find me at my desk
composed and indiscreet
a glorious panorama of office indiscretions before me