New Work at Anti-Heroin Chic


New Work in Anti-Heroin Chic

“heaven’s gate whines out opening up for all the tears of boys who were told not to cry. for all the girls abducted from their potential. for all the others forever denied. for zombies whiter than snow. for ghosts much the same. for corpses blackening in decay. for limbs much the same as gangrene sets in. for sun unable to melt the cities back to the bone of streets. for long winds sweeping out the corners of the neighborhoods. for the hillsides with a view of the comings and goings of paradise.”

Read the whole piece at: Anti-Heroin Chic

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Didn’t


Times like now when the snow has given the town its first taste of winter, this is when the talking starts. Conversation before becoming cabin-bound for the next few months. Get all the advice possible. Learn a few things. Make lists. Fill up on something for the lonely times. Give the old dreams some new playmates.

 

These days the air is delicate. It breaks easily for words. The summer’s frost between two at the bar melts. With options dwindling, any talk will do.

*

Didn’t know where to begin.

Didn’t know where this might go.

Didn’t know

Didn’t ask

*

Town is one thing. Home is another.  The two are governed by different dictates. Faces worn for the world slip off once threshold is crossed.

 

The smiles brought to town on these cold days are discarded  back home where the position in this world is further understood. In the space of a room with snow pressing its cold in, into the skin, the situation is solidified.

 

Winter will be another loss.  Hope will have to be held for another season.

*

The home. The cabin is stocked as meager as what could be afforded. The walls are for one but more would be merrier. Bar is further than should be traveled by foot. Risky, buzzed on icy road, bad tires.

 

Company is imaginary once again.

*

These days when the snow lets up. Gives the world a break and town feels close again. It’s time to take chances again.

 

Play the game of talk too much or say too little. Everybody’s got loneliness on the mind but everybody’s also getting used to it then the winter will be through and cold will be a part of the town again. Ice between everyone until the chill returns to shock. Warm one to another. Warn one of solitude. Bring together for a moment or more. Always less than needed.

(H)ours


(H)ours

The cup and the bell

 

The warm chocolate

against the sounds

of snow falling

from the tolling

for whom?

The hours honored in chimes

require libation

doctored

to fit occasion,

weather

And whether or not

it’s worth it at all

to call out the next

60 minute

increment.