This week’s Little Vines.
a knotted harangue
looped around his neck –
a necktie or a noose?
inside my mood painted dull blue
I know there is pink and gold in here somewhere.
I was family do you know
and bloodcurdling as you may remember those days
still, I was family. Curdling blood with the rest of you.
our grief defying expression
the complacent grammar of our language
insufficient to our needs
find me the moodiest bulldozer
and yet he too will break into a smile
mowing down your putrid rancid arguments
The water heater noticed a certain glassy vapidness
in the large round eye of the washing machine
Made a note:
maybe we have to work together but we don’t have to be friends
The split in Model 2468 Satin Dream’s side seam
five minutes before the wedding march began to play
set off some dressy swearing all right
a rusted-out water heater
glares at me from its dark corner under the stairs –
a grim portrait of what it’s like to be just hanging on
malfunction of the fire sprinkler system
and dozens of well-dressed well-heeled partygoers
synchronized swim around the sodden ballroom
the scent draped around her shoulders
like a soft cashmere shrug
she had just the one enemy
but it ate up everything else in her life
I pour that radioactive liquid into my cup
I marvel at the glowing silver tea leaves
I stir with my singular green fingers and drink.
Be more careful how you treat me.
empty beer bottles
arrayed on the concrete wall
barely visible in the fog
sweat in rivulets
the last maraschino cherry
skips around the bottle
as you tilt it
The family arrayed around
the bragging gravestone
appropriate exrpessions on their faces
Simpering clams, you said?
No, simmering clams.
Oh. I did wonder how you could tell.
the farce jams
the joke stalls
the laughter never leaves first gear
the shy wren
via her surprisingly exuberant glossary
the evasive waitress
the ancient oscillating fan
the tiki torches out front
a pair of gloves in the morning.
a to-and-fro on-and-off lost-and-not-found kind of day.
Nightfall. One glove floats in a slushy puddle.
The other’s in the trash at home. Who needs just one glove?
the delicate veins
of pearlescent sap
just visible under her skin
Professor Exotic’s knitting website
features a tube sock in a stripe pattern
suitable for a large serpent
the orange dregs of this bitter drink
heedlessly handled carelessly spilled
etch a stealthy circle on the concrete floor