bluelily's profile

Walls have been forever, first buried in solo chunks throughout earth and sea, waiting for gathering hands to puzzle them together in zippered tracks. And some, impatient for their exhumation, rise from the depths in grand protuberance, determined as gravestone. There is something so proud about a well-built wall, the caulk and pitch sealing cracks and fissures, the militant cast of silhouette and shroud, a dare to enter, shield of stone, the landscape scar, war stitch, monument to loneliness...

Daddy, daddy, she was born but flawless? daddy, am i flawless? only on the inside you say and your eyes turn downward away from new skin born clean as a whitewashed fence clean like blackboard punishment clean like the clergy, (ha!) and what about the outside then a beaut, they say, a beaut but in the rough just wait 'til the glint comes in just wait for the coal-crusher, fossil maker, putrifier a stallion to break her just wait 'til the breasts perk wilted white lilies leavened dough rising ...

She was lonely. The world was black and gray. No green trees. No blue skies. She could feel the sun, but it was gray. She could see smiling faces but not feel their warmth. She went to work. She went to school. She worked hard and wanted to get somewhere in life. She filled her life with things and people that she liked. She wanted challenge. She wanted strength. But she did not want to be alone. She saw other girls that were never alone. She saw they were different than her. In a field of fl...

how significant is it that the black and white of the piano are called keys? that when i push them, a white field separated by black logs, a horizontal ladder, a race track complete with hurdles for my fingers, a toothy grin with many gapes... how significant is it that when i push them, these keys of the piano, i open?

My voice has become Too comfortably Spread upon sheets, Paper-thin and milk-white, Hidden. A sniper in trees, Camo artist with Daggers instead of bullets, Slow pierce instead of pop, Eye instead of mouth. And now what will I say That the freeze is done, When I know what you need, When I know what you want, When it is stuck On the shelves in my mind, Behind canning and pickles, Behind cobwebs and paintings, Fragile, Unborn word. What can I do But coax them out slowly, Ease them with honey and ...