Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Curiosities



war by candlelight

amidst the curiosities

of my yet to be packed up

roll top desk

i found a diamond bracelet

you had given me

hiding in one of

the apothecary drawers

it reminded me immediately

how you waged

war by candlelight

instinctively i pulled the pin

on that gauche grenade

lobbing the tacky bauble

into the goose shit encircled pond

behind the house

your weaponry

is not welcome here


the 100 years war

my left ovary is england

my right ovary is france

upon fields of menopause

the 100 years war

is waged

in my



little bighorn

my smile fades

from the smell of

unexpected onions


fourth shot of whiskey poised

in my left hand


you rise in my throat

bile and reflux

but you are nothing

if not consistent


molested by the memory

of you

endlessly comparing me

to that damned bottle

of bourbon




stately noble bird

amber eyed Kentucky royalty

worthy of addiction

who will kick your ass

if you don’t mean it

not for beginners

or the faint of heart

yet somehow



and to hell with you still

i say

you and your Custer decisions


when you make your last call

last stand

each night

succumbing to the same

faulty strategy


sulk in your warm bath and remember

you lost to the indians

all on your own


(slams her shot in a way only bartenders and the triumphant understand)



the way wars make windows

you were standing there
enjoying a cigarette
the orchestral way you do
as i came around the corner

i stood still to watch
the uprising

it’s a part of your machine
and i accept that
the consensus view is
if you quit now
you’d die of not smoking

never having expected
to see you again
it was all the more overwhelming
to find you looking so beautiful

succumbing to the desire
of examining every inch of your skin
to verify
it is
as i left it

i thought i loved you
but i realize now i didn’t
i wanted you to fuck me
every moment of the rest of our lives
the final glorious act
in the perpetual stage show
you are
we were

but don’t blame singing sirens
or my absent daddy
they can’t help being dead myths

on the contrary

it was how deep our tongues
were buried
in conversation

the way we instinctively knew
how to kiss
mouth to mind

bend me over and teach me
yes, all of that

but i didn’t love you
or our silver-trimmed matching sets
of unrealistic expectations

in fact i came to hate you

i’ve forgiven you
i’ve forgiven me
and the death
i chose to take up with
but i’ll never forgive your mother

i now find myself
clear of mind
and intentions

if these things happen
they happen
you said

that being the case
and the blue of your eyes

i promise to be a better me
and not to love you
the way wars make windows

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