Friday, January 17, 2014

The Squeaky Door

Without a memory, without a place to put
the pain, I push down the mourning
of the person I used to be,

before I became strong. 
I don't mind. I don't 
pay any mind to it. 

I'll stop the car 
near the cliff that overlooks
Catalina, to vomit blood

and it reminds me 
of menstruation of 
the mind; my crimson chin

glitters in the crinkled
coastal sun, painting the
roses, the blooms on

the cactus, purple and red; 
no pause and no stutter,
just a white handkerchief

catching the nectar,
my mind pollen, to print
from cotton to page. 

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