Author Archives: Sarah

Old Fart

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I age.
The restroom is up a flight of stairs.
Relieved to see it unoccupied,
I trundle my weight up.
Gasses leak before
I ever reach the door.

I am reminded of old man Charlie.
He too would emit
On the ten yard trip across the room,
The bathroom far too distant
For aged cheeks to fight back
The wayward brew,
Which only a diet rich
In vegetable margarine and sauerkraut
Might engender.
And how will my diet appear
To the next generation
What poor choices of today
Will be paid for
In tomorrow’s intestinal distress?

I make it to the stall without trouble
No emergencies here.
I am still young enough.
I even have time to peer out the window
At the bright sidewalk below.

Just in time to see
Two girls with long legs
Long legs
Legs like herons
Did girls always have legs like that?
Graceful, lean, sun kissed fresh
They talk to one another as they pass
Of girlish things;
unaware of the vulture eye
Two stories above them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wellness enthusiasts

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walled in the well
we love the well we live the well
it’s all well here
we dug the well in the dark
we wallow deeper
we want the well
the well wants us
it’s nice
to be buried, alive
no one knows we’re here

where where
are the well people
with oily reflecting eyes
wobbly wet skin
slime in their hair
cold fingers
And webbing, webbing everywhere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autophagia

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I redrew that thing, this is what it turned into. I mentioned doing this in real ink, instead I drew it digitally, which is the most not-real ink of all. Except for disappearing ink. And that would have just been a waste of time. Question: what is the most not-real ink of all? Water!? *Mind blown*

Not sure how I’ll feel tomorrow but for now, I like it. I think this is a style I’ve been reaching toward but never fully realized until recently.

 

ouroboros

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unity in Divinity

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The divine in me greets

The divine in you.

When we hug

The little nebula glowing within you

Aligns with my own, warm and alive.

Everyone has the same basic needs.

We are all drawn with the same line,

Divided out of the same number,

Poured from the same bottle,

Leaves on the same tree.

We are all notes on the same violin

By the same composer.

We move together en masse

We murmurate like starlings

We are a tidal wave.

What kinds of things could we do

If we all leaned in the same direction

If we all jumped at once?

Could we tilt the world?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still There

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Anthony touched the pendant around his neck. It had been made for a girl, but he kept it under his shirt and nobody seemed to notice.

He felt the reassuring carved pattern. It was still there.

Last month he had almost left it at a friend’s house after using her shower. When he’d noticed it missing, he felt physically ill. Fortunately his friend had found it. She gave it back to him without questions. She hadn’t needed an explanation. She knew.

He rubbed his thumb over the pattern. It was wearing flat already from his constant fidgeting with it. He had to stop or it would break. He sighed. He couldn’t wear the necklace forever. It wouldn’t last. It was just a cheap dollar store necklace.

He could follow her.

He watched the blood pulse in his wrists. He felt the thumping of his heart. He relished the feeling of his active brain and functional, painless eyeballs.

She wouldn’t have wanted him to.

Tink.

The charm fell off of the necklace, and he caught it in his absently fiddling fingers without thinking. He fished it out of his shirt and examined it.

Bright red flowers. The small plastic loop which connected it to the chain had finally torn through.

He would never be able to repair it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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