thinking it was a baby tooth, you tied it to the door.

burst of blood and clear skies,

i thought it looked like rain.

 

a regular crime scene;

a flake of red paint that crept under fingernails

as you carried the peeling and rotten door out of the garage.

 

hands that are now severing head from body

a surgeon operating; calm, collected, with purpose.

 

spatters of tabasco lay stark against white

as the pink tails pile up.

 

heavy on salt, a dry tongue

hinged on hope.

pink tails pile up, spatters of tabasco lay stark against white

as you sever head from body how a surgeon operates;

calm, collected and with purpose.

red, robust and rough grout

i grope for your hand,

bone scraping bone.

you thought it was a baby tooth and tied it to the door.

burst of blood and clear skies,

i thought it looked like rain.

jam out with your clam out

I started a comic today!

It chronicles a struggling band of shellfish, The Clam Band! That's all I can tell you for now! 

a ghost stood in the pantry

eight feet tall and in full business attire

he peered over the door, solemn and lonely.

no one else noticed so i

busied myself with picking the varnish off the kitchen table

creating wood grain continents to call my own.

i sneeze at least once before going to bed.

dreams of crashing planes and cats that aren't there.

once i was shot and killed on a bus in spain,

i dove into a lake at sunset;

color continuing into water.

and when you slept next to me,

i didn't dream at all.

your sweaty body up against mine;

i couldn't tell if i was asleep or not.

and the next night,

i flew on a magic carpet

to see someone who didn't want to see me.

sheets crumped and pillows askew,

a crack emanates from deep within my spine.

i smile, unable to recall

whether i dreamt of you or whether i lay still

a crow perched on a branch.