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Phase.

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Ghosts

What if ghosts are just as afraid of us

As we are of them?

Their eerie cries and furrowed brows

A simple physiological reaction,

An innate fight-or-flight stress response

That we humans also express

When struggling to find some air

While submerged in the belly of

The great whale?

The same response we humans express

When our fingers are

Pricked by a shrewd animal

Or when a gunman pulls up

With a strap next to us

At the grocery store.

What if ghosts think that humans

Are all just greedy fiends?

With a long, notorious history of

Cruel imperialism and colonialism-

Humans might just take over and populate

Any remaining reserved space next

Just like how they took over and desecrated

The sacred burial grounds of

Native Americans.

What if ghosts think humans

Are a jejune, inconsiderate species?

Hollering and stomping their feet

Past tombstones and rubble

While the dead are trying to get back

The REM sleep they have been

Injudiciously robbed of?

What if ghosts think humans are just

Too weird to be around?

Because they lack

The linguistic skills to

Communicate with us ably,

They knock things down

Or ruthlessly blow on objects

Within their immediate vicinity

Just so we can get the fuck away.

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The Legacy of My Late Dresser

I decided to pick apart my dresser today

Limb by limb.

It had been deceased for

A couple of days now-

I was never really quite fond

Of the fetor of tender, rotting wood.

Fetor of any kind, to be frank

Was really never my 

Preferred kind of Yankee Candle scent anyways.

Upon firm dissection of my late dresser,

I noticed it must have coughed up

Some 25 sock balls 

Before its last meal. 

I felt that something was off...

My dubiety kicked in and soon

I felt this awful churning in my stomach.

With more prodding,

I was able to find that it was still holding captive

10 petrified bras

5 timid panties

2 chatty pairs of jeans

4 antisocial sweaters

And a mute open purse 

Lying prostrate on top of one 

Of the sweaters, clearly exhausted

With its back to me.

Still, 

When I rummaged some more, 

I found that 

My clingy, rotting dresser 

Was even harboring the receipt 

Of the brand new mahogany one 

I had recently purchased and hired 

To take its late place.

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Go bust a nut.

I shook my moneymaker for ya

But you still let your eyes

Roll over and peruse the dents

Near the back window

That have just gotten

Worse with each collision.

I said I started working out

But it ain't look like it working out.

I like the way your buns eat them shorts up

But those thighs-you said.

When I lunged,

You told me to get a grip girl.

I said I think I had enough...

Then when I was deep in blue

I turned to milking all kinds of shakes.

I always liked my shakes

With cool whip on top.

They all came in many varieties but none

Were a rich chocolate

Like yours.

Now it seems like my body ain't nobody's.

Tell me why you walking away-

You about to sail out?

But

Tell me which bitch

Got perky orbs like mine

Tell me which bitch's moon

Be full like mine.

Tell me which bitch got a 32" like mine.

Walk, walk, walk.

But, tell me?

Too preoccupied with my cellulite

Don't ever dream of getting these goodies

Or cookies back.

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in Motion

We are just atoms in a state of continuity 

Bouncing off each other

But never coming into close, intimate contact.

The few times we do run into each other at

500 meters per second, 

We mutually exchange our hellos and briefly ask 

What we have done in the meanwhile

Before parting again,

500 meters per second in the other direction.

But, we know that there isn’t enough kinetic energy 

In the world

To pull us away from each other permanently.

The material attraction still exists-

When we find ourselves constantly meeting and parting.

Your musk lingers by my door

And mine by your seat-

Even though we have never touched each other with our hands-

Only our eyes.

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immortal

Delicate, exquisite ichor 

Parades through your veins

Salutes vessels and arteries 

That come along its narrow way

Leaving no drop of fluid to linger behind.

With ichor,

Life is no longer transient.

You are no longer the Labord chameleon that only has a 

Few months to frolic out of the womb

Before being engulfed by the

Primary consumers of nature, those

Fierce detritivores that love to feed

On the dead.

Nor are you bound like the worker bee

To indulge in sacrifice.

With ichor,

Entropy has no home here-

Only order.

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Thesaurus

I deliver in fragments that jitter 

Uncontrollably 

Like the frantic student does the night

Before his final exam.

Initial consonants now start to populate

Occupy the rest of my barren speech’s land.

But, you sense this and 

Out of primal pity-

Fill in each prick 

With a cool, supple modifier that

Nourishes parched nouns and

Spurns stationary verbs to 

Perform new actions-

Recreating my thoughts all over again

Filling in the hollow

To make the whole

Whole once more.

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Soft wood

Conifers soft rest-

A fresh medley of juniper and pine glued

Bound by viscous sap residue from hard maple

To a weathered countertop 

Blushing with few pebbles of color

Stacked on top of each other like ripe paperbacks.

Such soft wood,

Waxing growth 

Nursing needles

Never shedding

Shielding pores of self-identity

From naked eye,

Is too afraid to engage in 

A metamorphosis of its own. 

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Turmeric

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W

You left no savory scent behind 

When you left

Nor a distinct aftertaste.

I saw right through your transparent eyes,

With nothing to confine.

You said that you would be back soon.

So, I confided in you.

For, who can doubt those eyes?

But, its like 32 Celsius over here,

And I am longing for your 

Odorless

Tasteless

Touch.

Yearning to feel 

The smooth and supple

Texture again

That I had taken for granted 

This whole time.

-Let us become acquainted again-

Come

Catalyze the reactions

Inside my body

Come

Penetrate my semi-permeable membranes

And nourish me,

Humble molecule.

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Pygophilia

Gluteus maximus

My booteus maximus

Your eyes be stuck like glue

Trying to find the start and

End point of my arc

Cum

Cross-over

Roll over

To the next quadrant

Run your tongue 

Along the surface area

Of this thick laffy taffy

Lick, suck, kiss and repeat.

Where else are you going to find

Such a divine Derrière?

We know

My ass

Bubblier than your personality.

We know

My ass

Got more mass than your

Fake photoshopped one.

We know

My ass 

Jiggles when it drops.

We know

My ass

Got more cellulite

Than your pancake one.

So, I’m gonna keep on showcasing 

What my momma gave me-

Even when the world decides it’s 

No longer trending~