Wednesday, June 19, 2019

Sufia Khatoon paints

Alyssa Trivett writes

Fifth Strike

I didn't keep track.
It kept track of itself.
Around the go-kart track of
outbursts and missed 
turn signal clicks.
I may have never wanted this,
yet I signed my own permission slip.
And remembered in the end
to let the doubts of the situation
float and head into a pile of rubble
in some unnamed part of the world
no one will have to worry about
or record on an unwinded 
cassette tape left in a pool 
of ice cream in a parking lot.
Let it whirl.
I take my name off your list
and begin
to circle your deceptive words
in a crossword puzzle
though most of them are left
until after the fact.
As a matter of fact.
you can do that for yourself,
from now on, friend.
You Will Never Get Me -- Guido Crepax

Kevin M. Hibshman writes

notes on two deaths that remain impacting

we had such wonderful hiding places

who will ever remember them now that you have made it to the final hiding place?

adventure was a state of mind

we courted an innocence until separated and it shattered like glass in a broken picture frame
Image result for broken picture frame paintings
The Broken Frame -- Yanko Tsvetkov

David Boski writes

Crying Game

I remember my sister saying:
‘David never cries, it’s so weird’
after our father’s funeral—
I stood there watching others
do just that: 
my mother 
my cousins
my aunt
his friends 
who I didn’t know
as I fought back
my own
pushing those feelings
deep down
into my guts
hoping that’s where
they’d stay.

I’ve never felt comfortable
crying in front of other people
and even though I’ve done it before—
it’s a sight rarely seen.

It usually happens when I’m alone
and my insides spontaneously combust—
as I stand in the shower; a place I can’t feel my tears.
Sad Shower in New York -- Tracey Emin