a cherry

a seemingly harmless

red, round fruit

you pop the whole thing

in your mouth

bite down on the

soft sweet juicy pulp

then suddenly

you reach the middle

expecting the soft flesh

you get a solid pit

Time’s hands are surprisingly familiar for all the change they bring. Their grasp is a feeling we all know and yet always seem to forget until they put us a down.

Every Saturday, after work, I visit my grandmother at her nursing home. It’s about a half an hour drive to get there, but it’s worth the drive. Grandma G isn’t the normal nursing home type you’d think of: sweet, unsuspecting, a kind of elderly innocence.

They say that time is a constant,

In math world it is an unchanging letter k. 

But I say that it becomes a variable,

A perfect letter x. 

Time can be carefully controlled, ceaseless,

A cascading current.

“Take all the time you need,”

They said.

But now I’d much rather be in bed,

Because I’m 76 today.

My life is beginning to fade away.

“Take all the time you need,”

They said.

I hope you’re happy.

Now I’m dead.

On a Friday in the middle of January at about 12:30 in the afternoon, a little less than 10 people occupy the Chinese Cuisine. Among the nail salon, the boutique, and the FedEx office, it waits for customers.

look at them,

so cavalier, drinking

future-liquor in a future-

2079

The sky outside is an awful dusty grey-red color.

Outside the glass dome of the city, you can see toxic clouds clutter the dirty colored sky. 

Inside though can be described in one word – vibrant.

Between her slender fingers she pivots the earth

Amused by how the blues and greens twirl

We let the motion power us

Letting it rock us and push us, haunt us and slow us.

Our lives are dictated by her constant motion.

It’s my last day with the old giants

In mourning I hike the lost trails,

sniffing the aroma of the bark,

that cinnamon of the forest

Under tepees of wood

in a membrane of shadows,

I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,

Varuna pulled forth the world the heavens the stars

With a roll of his tongue he wrenched time in her place

A word on his lips and the floods would recede

From sludge he said let there be more

When we wake, we stretch to

fill out our expectations of where

what should be & then we look in

the mirror for confirmation is this

me is this me is this & we know it’s

The sun dawns upon me

Again I’m greeted to gasps of reality

Holding onto dreams I can disappear into 

until the day breaks, bright and true

Every morning I breathe incapabilities 

but I still wake with a certain heart

Time is a girl with curly hair that bounces with every step and twirl she takes

She talks with her hands but never fails to find the right word to say

She can be by your side one second and gone the next

Getting lost in the crowd is fun to her

I seduced Time

I brought her thorny flowers, held her worn hands and kissed her softly

I caressed her flushed cheeks and played with her hair, long like a timeline

I ran my hands along her battle-won scars and her strong but delicate body

In a far distant and long forgotten land, there stands a great forest. An ancient power is said to live within, fed into the earth through deep and powerful roots. The vastness of the strange forest covers a mountain from its base to its peak, brushing the clouds.

The night was warm and a blue haired girl sat alone at a bar. She was at one end, trying to catch a glimpse of a woman sitting opposite, a woman with long dark hair and caramel skin. Robyn knew her from somewhere, she was sure of it.

145: i looked normal for a girl my size, a little extra meat on my bones but nothing to make me despise the body i lived in. Until i started comparing myself to the girls around me. maybe i should lose a couple pounds see that’s how it started.

the void beckoned.

i stood softly

quaking

afraid

what is there is to do in the void?

i pondered quietly

the void answered,

nothing.

perfect.

i replied

i need time

i need time

i’m a mannequin, a marionette man, my actions preplanned. 

i go through my motions, i do a little dance. My movements based off the crowd’s applause 

i give a little wave because 

words bubbling on my tongue are not metaphors,

They are a message, a warning of future plights to come.

I should thank this body for that, thank

you. piece of flesh you

distracted woman you

It was mid-October and I was laying outside under the large oak tree reading a novel. The tree’s branches swayed in the wind, arms moving as if they were protecting the leaves and everything surrounding it. As I was flipping the pages, I shifted my weight under the crunch of the dead leaves.

She stood in front of a mirror

Clean and sober thinking about how she feels taller than her own reflection

Then she took an injection

They’ve run out of garbage bags to use as body bags.

Power lines cracked in half like splintered pencils are strewn through the streets

neighborhoods panic as the ground forgets what being solid is again

“What is one factor that affects the Blood Alcohol Level and is an extremely important factor (in order to ‘sober up’)?”

I hear the gunshot, I do not see 

The bullet but I know it’s coming 

Aimed to perforate my skull 

They say your life flashes, once death’s 

Shadow is on your tail and grips you in 

It’s midnight, and he finds that it’s impossible to sleep. He isn’t exactly sure why, though he suspects it’s because his mind has wound itself into a series of complicated knots. There’s an abundance of loose ends as well, and he wonders which one carries the most weight. 

Another black kid got shot by a white cop.

ANOTHER BLACK KID GOT SHOT BY A WHITE COP.

ANOTHERBLACKKIDGOTSHOTBYAWHITE COP.

ANOTHERBLACKKIDGOTSHOT

ANOTHERBLACKKIDGOTS

Ten . . .

Nine . . .

Eight . . .

Seven . . .

you are like the sun:

oblivious to time’s existence

wake up at noon to eat dessert

and watch television reruns.

you are sleepless nights

and grease stained fingers

covered in cuts and bruises and scabs.

you are like the war

Like clockwork revaluations to new forgotten ideas lined up in my mind like young adult novels on my ratty old grey bookcases, I live stories lined up in many different tenses    dog-eared identities taking place in crises fueled hourglass clocks, if there is one thing I’ll never run ou