Sunday, November 28, 2010

THE WALK (LitBits #3)

          There’s an asphalt walk between two houses. It ambles over and down a hill into a field verdant of blades and diamonds. Electric latitudes hover overhead. The walk trembles thin past seesaws and swings. It winds through a thousand spacetimes of vertiginous naïveté. Two half-courts are trampled by a million possibilities. The walk opens up to the harsh light of day. It hooks about, doubles back on itself, swallows its own tail. 

Monday, November 8, 2010

I'M CLOSE (LitBits #2)

     I'm on my knees amid a roiling ocean. The foam hisses up to my breast, trailing itself with a pregnant shimmering echo. The waves run over my back in pulsating fractals. My nostrils fill with the scent of wet oleander. The current throbs between my knees. The stars wink come-hither above the indigo horizon. I turn my head toward the Bloodhenge and I hear the voice: "Where are you?" Light-years away but the heat from the breath washes over my flesh. I cry back, "I'm close! I'm close!"

Monday, November 1, 2010


Before my eyes are open I'm cold. My eyes grow back in my grandparents' bathroom, a long-extinct species of sepia and bygone conveyance. The tub is filled with ice. And the ice is filled with me. I look at my gut through the crystalline cubes, a wide gleaming splotch of pixilated scarlet. I'm not confused anymore, but the ice has numbed me to the chill snaking through me. I lift my head. He towers over me; stentorian, victorious. His arms across his chest, he holds a scalpel. Crimson rivulets run down the metal and over his fist.

No, I think. No. Not me. Not him.

Then he laughs and says, "I'm just kidding."