Odd, this, the red skin shame. Clans of others... with roots deeply, weakened by transgressions. That appear hunted like game. Had my blood been a search part for organic matter. A reason to mimic heritage. But, surely, that would be treason alone. ∞ Or, perchance, within a tribe...the coming of age. Dreams of nature would … Continue reading Crowded by Blood
Had my soul been a house. It would have been filled with spirits of an anonymous kind. Disenchanted mirrors. Spouting monomers, not so refined. The phrase, "I love you." spoken in jest. "I love you." Bringing to my earth only dust. ♠ However, I am not a house. I am a woman made of pliable, … Continue reading the House that Eugene Built
What an after-bite? This lone house. Leaving all who have entered. Only stranger than before. Elusive participants in vigorous fights. Pastime for plights. Decoys for spite. This house has an after-bite. To the estranged, stranger... Something not quite right. Something...is not quite right.
Religiously, a book with no spine. A sisterhood cloaked by falsehoods. What of the charm? Belonging to the woman with masks for misdeeds. How did it feel? Ignoring the abuse? Spinster Sister how can shame be the family's noose. ∃ Your summer winds blow in shallow. Leaving no taste, no permanence... That cannot be erased. … Continue reading Spinster Lee
I do not want to think of him. Though...I do. The brother I once knew. Born an old man. He had been more than my father could stand. His persona... Larger than a vat of well stirred anger. Hope never surrounded him. Love, seemed a danger. ∞ Even now, alive...but his breathing unwell. I think … Continue reading Memories of My Brother