Artemis Drifting

Just because she tippietoes, doesn't mean she's a creepin'.


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My thoughts on the saying, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”


Distance yawns across

swells of a choppy ocean

guiding buoys waterlogged

thick with seawater

pregnant inamorata’s 

legs up, toes to the sky

hair billowing like kelp

pulled adrift by currents

foiling their warning

of dangers.


And the sturdy land

on each shore

knows not of the other

absorbed each in itself

having a neck so long

that even a passing breeze

stirs it to attention

self sustaining

enough distraction

and it forgets the gulf


But if ever

the shelves of their land touch

passion melts hard stone

and fuses rocky plates

only then

can they see each other


they both believe

the other does not



Beauty Kettledrum

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Skin snaps across my bones

tight as a drum between

yawning knobby hips


thunder breaks along

navel to sternum

bouncing sound from rib

to rib


the science of beauty

is not the finished product

but the racket it makes



Happy Endings.

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Neon twists inviting letters

on crumbling brick

you know the place needs

some work, not much

just a little T.L.C

the bell rings over the door

because you finally

made up your fickle mind

and went on in


You went looking for

your happy ending

and saw promise 

in the scarred interior

where others only felt


a little sweeping

then wiping rain stained

windows to shine

finally, it would be home


the hands held your heart

sometimes, they squeezed

a little too tight

and you bled

but you kept on believing 

with time, callouses would wear

thin, and give way to tender



your wanderlust kept you away

when you had to find

your own shadow

so you left that place

though ghostly fingers

remained looped in your

fluttering aortic valves

and you traveled, head down.


then the feet stopped itching

and you walked by just to check

because the ‘You are Here’

on your map

always made a dot right there

but there was no neon

no door and no windows

just faceless brick.


sometimes there are

no happy endings.



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I’ve become complex

skin loosening into broken triangles

bunched over rough knuckles

like the fall of antiqued curtains


while my hands bare the signs

the rest flows supple, smooth

mottled like a fawns pelt

with tawny kisses


Take a breath.

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Her feet are touching the earth

and yet

water adrift from eyes is drowning her.


She can buck, hair trailing like sodden seaweed

but still

salty warmth crawls inside her lungs


Whoever said dying this way becomes easy

that you

eventually feel detached and comfortable


they must have learned to grieve with tears

to manage

the sorrow and still live life



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You left your fence open

and your dogs went out to play

then the grass got tall

and the weeds ate up

all the flowers

so you couldn’t see

the vermin

that crept on ground


fence got all rusty

and the door was bent

latch just didn’t work right

so when you got around

to closin’ it up tight

didn’t work no more


anyone could come in

any damn thing

and what were you gonna do?

seein’ a yard like that

they’d think

who’d give a shit if

i went on in?


Ill intent slips off of me pretty hilariously.

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I can’t do it

I’m going to get sloppy

I can’t be it

That’ll be another beer

I can’t hold it

Cheap bic lighter

and five minutes peace


I can’t help it

‘Cuz bubbling over

is just what I do

I can’t will it

All that shit I ignore

explodes into

tears or flames


I can’t beat it

You’re gonna be

so damn uncomfortable

I can’t stop it

When I run to

your rescue

I can’t perfect it

Always going to be

the sinner

and the saint.


I can’t regret it

life has no time

to waste on

manufactured shame.


No Show.

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It was the first time

she ever walked

off the field

she took her shredded glove

her dented bat

and her cracked helmet

and went home


the sun had worn

that uniform to threads

pale and bruised

her skin flashed like 

the underside of a fish

through her jersey


her heat bleached hair

crackled like fire

beneath the faded cap

and blood fell like a 

crumb trail

as her cleats pushed

through the decaying

rubber soles.



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This is all getting too heavy

My ribs creak with the pressure

Of being an overladen vessel

trying to make it across the sea


I don’t want to do this anymore

There is no anchor that can stop this

and no sails that can bring me to shore 


Even if I sank

these ghosts would never

abandon ship.