Tag Archives: p

(out of a lack of self-discipline)

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the unfortunate trope of invisibility, revisited :

she stepped on a porcelain mind
too fragile to find
but it tore like gold leaf papers
and it smelled like pine:
wood box.

she saw the footsteps from the doorfront
to the backdoor.
they were a man’s footprints-
too large-
filled with hubris
false hopes.

she stepped on a porcelain mind,
the clean cutting away of
a dream,
and placed the pieces on a
pile of papers,
so they could be saved
from the shamefulness of the floor.

it is 2 in the morning now,
and she is sitting on top of the rubble in the
trashed house,
the old house.
it wasn’t destroyed more than an hour ago
but it seems like an eternity.

they haven’t got a clue who did it,
and maybe that’s because it was a person who wasn’t there.

the footprints turned out to be a mirage
that everyone was seeing
they were snowy footprints,
melted.
too late

i knew a man once who said he could
disappear, i mean
scatter his atoms around at will and
dissipate into the air.
i checked his story once.
he was right.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

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Ghost at Grandma’s

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touched
touched not even barely.
it still counts as contact,
doesn’t it?

I’m touched as if by wind, the whirl of a single fan blade
I’m touched, a spec of dust,
a small petal
dropping:
it’s just the thought that counts.

you are all eyes
watching me as you go from door to doorstep
you don’t wait out in the cold for long.
you don’t smile either.
well, the corners of your mouth do
move upwards from
time to time,
sometimes I can catch it.
it’s a little game I like to play called
drop the act.
but you always notice me.

you’re all ears,
but you’re silent.
and I can’t feel you at all.
are you even there?

that’s the funny part,
you’ve been here since my birth
and you’ll be here till my death.

I sit on the couch in a sticky July
with the trees behind the glass
wearing my tank top and shorts,
smelling the humid air
and the hum of the refrigerator
I stick to the vinyl pillows but you watch,
effortlessly,
and I’d smile,
though you never need to catch me
doing that.
you slip through the surface like
gossamer,
but you don’t dissolve
onto the welcome mat.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry


Still

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I do not want to know
what you are really like
(it’s safe to say that
utter ignorance is
utter bliss)
because with every new thing I learn
your image slips
like needles over the same groove
worn with being seen
I don’t want to run dry so soon
but it seems i may

I want to be still with you like
a lake in a breezeless sky
a wordless speech in a
soundless film
a motionless statue in a
personless room
that’s bliss.

kiss!

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

Safer

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I can’t get away
from the lurking dangers
but at least you helped me
get back on my feet
and stayed until I could
collect my balance.
it was nice of you.

well,
you just shrugged, you smiled
you said it was the thing to do.

the thing to do.

why are you so perfunctory?
why do you stand in the room,
just stand?
all you have do do is stand

but I can’t get anywhere
so I try and pretend
that I do.

I’m in a scrim that
fits neatly over my perception
personal,
thin
but substantial enough
and you’re standing in there
this isolated bubble of

dampened noises
muted colors
like you’ve turned all the signals down and
every’s real quiet and soft.
I like that about you.
didn’t you know that?

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

My Imaginary Friend Told Me to Go through Regression So I Obliged Him

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And he was there!
Take me!
Ocean of your breast
I called it a wall of
protection.
Last night a vision of him
made me relive being
a frightened little girl
waiting inside for the person i don’t speak about.
I went up to her
and told her who I was-
and I went up to
her innocent, naive oppressor
and said “my god! you’re younger!
take better care of her”
and then it was over,
my eyes drowning,
and he was
still sitting by my bed.
He took me in his warm arms
and I could breathe.
and I was pleased
impressed, how he always knew
how to make things better,
though he didn’t like me saying so
and he didn’t like me telling.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry