Almost sleeps on my tongue
noxious like monoxide, but the
end notes smack
of sun singed berries or tamarind spoons
in the shade.

Of monsoon summer,
desert air.
Dusty, wet, and swollen-
like baking a pan of water
in a pit under dirt.

And we
Nickelodeon bellies, ashy knees,
horny toads, mirthful morbid beings.
We race bikes through puddles
and around the bend.

Notebooks in September,
our half-lidded eyes watched the black spider legs of
the blank faced clock

Creep. Stop. Ring.

And somewhere in between,
Time said that we
are the wrinkled ones,
are the frozen ones,
we are the speeding bullets we were taught to fear.

Time said that we
are not observers, no. We are

On Display.

And we,
fully matured and martyred in full
to the spirits on the shelf-
the ones you drink with citrus and salt.

The ones you chase with bitters or Coke or even pickle brine

We Venus fly traps of human flaws
and hot empty voids just
laying in wait like we have a campfire
with each other’s name
carefully etched
on a stone that we buried beneath
the reverb of voice which once
kindled the flame.

We kiss through plastic sheets and fall asleep.



6 thoughts on “Almost

  1. An edit of an old poem. I am not sure what to do about the formatting, the first stanza seems to have been enlarged and imblued (heh). I tried editing it and when I couldn’t fix it, I thought I would try to delete it and repost it but I can’t find the option to delete a post. So here it is.


    1. Well, I’m glad you didn’t find the option to delete cause I like this poem! But if you want that functionality I may have to change your permissions. I’m still not certain exactly how they work on WP – that will require me to think and I’m currently on baby watch – it’s been any moment for 15 days…

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That’s exciting! Congratulations! My son has lit my life up like a roman candle that still hasn’t gone out, two years later. Babies are everything. (In case you wondered where I stood on that one.)

        It might be good that I am not able to delete work once it’s posted because I often loathe it the instant it’s available to be read by anyone whose opinion I value. Writer’s curse.


    2. I really think you just carried in some bad formatting from your worddoc. I copied your original draft copy, pasted it in my word doc, then went back to your draft copy and cut it and then replaced it with my word copy. It updated just fine. It also could have been just a bug in the wordpress posting. That can happen.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi K of JAK,

    Where to begin? If you are as young as you appear, then we can say you are an old soul: two eyes like nighttime manholes without the covers. I don’t believe in souls, but maybe you will change my mind. I prefer atoms and the void. Anyway, the poem is astonishing to me. I am a sucker for the good image and this is filled with them. You totally had me with baking a pan of water. There is something about the way you write which is before it happened, not after. Words are part of recall, memory, what we have learned, but there is the creative gift of seeing what one has never dreamed before, falling into a place without experience, without the imprint of our DNA, without the mother’s touch or the father wrapping our bones and for some, in the moment, nothing is there, and then they write. What happens with the words? I call it a rising of the heart. A form of ecstasy. You seem to be like that. Welcome to Tin Hats. Perhaps you can make up for my mistakes. Thanks. Duke

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You humble me, Duke. I have read this comment a few times and can’t seem to find the words to express how the praise you offer makes me feel gilded down to the crevices of my joints. This has emboldened me to really try to put out more work which is invaluable. Thank you.


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