These spooky cuties were designed by my drear fiend, the ever talented, Spooky Sproul. Contact him for your artsy, creepy, tattooy needs. Letterpressed on thick, luxurious paper and hand-inked by yours ghouly, these bookmarks are all they rage! They will make your books look way cooler than your friends books. I am currently giving them away by the handful. Want a dozen or so? Just message me your addy and they will appear in your mailbox! Yay for snail mail and paper products and candles and books and tea!
like something swollen
with secret: throated, gleeless and aching
for breath, not breath
not enough to fill
(it’s edges are filed nicely though: all crystal and sandpaper and shine)
pompous and snag-free,
your holiday sweater’s fully
no snow roses
or tinsel teeth
or pine needle disinfectant
only things left unsaid
and bubbling at the underbrush of
baby talk--really gutsy baby talk--
(we’re talking eyeballs and soft spots and milk teeth here)
we pray to the ancients for bigger everythings
--fins, humps, gills, morosity--
to fill up this endless home-sick-ness
of blackened wishbones
and garish garland
eggs deviled with care
Dear Grand-Monster Ness,
(It’s okay if I call you that, right?
I mean, I know we’ve never met,
But it feels like I know you.)
Your gloom effuses all waterlogged cavities.
I really like your tail.
Seriously, I’ll take whatever,
though an anchor would be divine.
With subtlety and haste,
The The Empty.
I stick flowers in my milk-jug-sized pill bottles; Martha Stewart told me that flowers have the ability to brighten up any space. I like roses the best, even though they wither the quickest without any water. Now all of my pills have petal pieces stuck to their casings. The magnitude of dead foliage inside my guts is astounding. I hope the grown-outside petals can mix with the grown-inside petals and create a funky hybrid rose. If only I had enough hydration to sustain a new anything.
The pills are sapping me completely. I feel like California: stunted, infertile, dry as a bone. I used to be dense with photosynthesis; it was hella sexy. Now I’m all thin and papery, ripe kindling for a forest fire. Mood stabilizers are well-know for their cornucopia of side effects. My cells are degenerating at the speed of light, my hair falls out by the handful, and my eyes are so sensitive that I have to wear those ugly, blind guy, black-plastic sunnies inside. I’m like the poster child for what-not-to-ingest-if-you-ever-hope-to-get-a-date-again.
From kitchen to bedroom to couch and back: I make haphazard crazy eight patterns with my slippered feet. I chill easily these days, and must keep a blanket pinned around my neck like a cape. I have a small gold couch that I salvaged from the dumpster. The upholstery is flaking off in chunks the size of fingernails. My fingernails are flaking off and mixing with the chunks. I think about sweeping a few times a day, but am easily distracted by the sounds of dying inside. I chug water with abandon. I wonder when my post-hospital-assigned-psychologist will call?
I’ve been out of the bin for a few weeks now. The Powers-That-Be (thankfully) approved my discharge plans and sent me packing. Now all I’m supposed to do is this:
1. Take my medicine
2. Take my medicine
3. Take my medicine
4. Admit that my insides look like everyone else’s insides (A.K.A.: Deny the existence of a flora-and-fauna-filled wilderness in my guts.)
Easier said than done done done, I say. You must suffer the darkness in order to see the stars, they say. Bullshit macaroni treetop cytoplasm, I say. I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet, they say.
**(I will be posting little experts from stories here and there and here. If there is a bit that really catches your eye, feel free to leave a comment, and I will probably post more of that story!)**
thinnest on the eyelids
thickest on the feet
sometimes cells sleep
or slough clustering by
cluster in kitchen corner
corners things hidden
below (secret things)
stratified layers that burn
off fast leaving
baby-soft black boxes
of dutiful silence
quiet in the eye
quick on the feet
but slumped tough
in the aftermath of after
my spirit animal is a goth teenager