it is such a terrible addiction.i used to read books,piece words together,talk to people. nowall I do is diligently stareinto the lives of others inhopes that they are doingthe same.
Tag: daily
synchronized
we tip our heads back often
laughing at unlikely truths
our shoes still on we dream
on the couch.
music on the tv conducts us
into a pale yellow morning, a
thin fog still nestling in the
trees.
a low siren can be heard
on this typical Monday, we
yawn into each other
and fall back asleep
Beto’s Quetes
The clump of her fading auburn hair
lay next to the cooler full of Modelo.
Dinorah had flung it across the dance
floor while Enedina swished her hips
to the Cumbia beats. The two women
wrestled between tables, while Tio Beto
played the accordion, a green and red
Fever F3112 with white keys his father
bequeathed to him when he was six.
It was always a treat to see.
no revolution
from up here it all looked so droll
routine trips to the expected quo
another quiet life
pressing on toward nothing
<ahref=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/droll/”>Droll</a>
non silicone
they were colossal
strutting down fifth avenue
sight focused on her
with each step they bounced
right foot, left foot, bounce bounce bounce
melons for sale
gravitational pull
As she paced between the bed and dresser I caught a flash of her beautiful green enraged eyes, wide and wet. Her breath was fast and heavy, her arms hung while she cracked her knuckles. Her yelling began to sound melodic and all I could do was listen.
“I can’t do this anymore” Chorus x 3
“Get Out! Get Out! Get Out” [background singers]
The catchy tune played on as she ripped through the planets of our past. Unearthing fossilized wounds and forgotten feuds.
recess
foot against the wall,
pull chapstick out of pocket
pamper puckered lips
sticky fingers
she had never seen anyone do that before
he had a magazine…it seemed so old fashioned
his muffled moans made her smile
why she was in his closet was irrelevant
little tableau 