Wednesday, March 24, 2010

I wuz here

I wuz here

We declare
to anyone who will notice
bathroom stalls
wooden tables
concrete walls

The human race will know us
the countless millions
common, ordinary, normal

We want you all to know:
I existed, once.
In case no one noticed

I was here.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

A Flashlight, a Hurricane, and a Lawn Mower

I hit my flashlight again, hoping against hope that the batteries would reconsider; that they would decide that they would, after all, keep working. At least for a little while longer. I couldn't let it die.

My heartbeat quickened as I stumbled through the field. I had no idea where I was, or even worse, where the next piece of civilization was. My heart felt like it would beat right through my chest as the batteries languished and died, their last breath of light fading away.

The last thing I had heard on the radio before my car gave out flashed through my mind once again and I quickened my footsteps, though I could no longer see them.

A hurricane was coming. It was coming soon. It was coming here. My rational thoughts died out on me—I began to run. In the black darkness of the night, my mind was seeing horrible things, which quickened and blurred until my mind, too, was running.

My legs stopped, but my upper body kept going—I flew over some object and landed on my face and hands. I groaned, felt out what it was I had tripped over. I fumbled, feeling the metal, the strange shape of it. It took me a few minutes, while my mind slowed down and thoughts returned.

I began to laugh slowly. I laughed harder and harder until I was afraid that I had lost my mind. I had tripped over a lawn mower. I got up finally and started calling out in all directions, hoping somebody owned this and somebody lived nearby.

I shouted into the distance and I heard a low rumble of thunder answer me as rain drops began to prick my skin.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

One of Those Days

My sides stick to me.
I can't unglue my skin
and clothing has me trapped.

My tongue sticks to the roof
of my mouth and speaking tingles.
I try to shift, but my body has limits
and it refuses to expand.

There is no comfort in myself
and mirrors laugh, using my face.
My skin is not my own
but I have nowhere else to go.