Green Mill: The Kid

    "He likes chasing the shadows on walls" Daisy said with a straight face. Charlie realized that she could not be serious about her proclamation, after all the shadows on the wall stayed still, for the most part. "I've always known that The Kid was a little off" Charlie replied. The Kid had been missing for several days now, no one had seen him since he went into Witchipoo's house across the street. His parents called the police and sent out search teams through a ten mile radius of the Green Mill subdivision. They even searched Wichipoo's house and had found nothing except peeling wallpaper and old furniture. Daisy and Charlie sat on edge of the front porch their house swinging their legs, "What do you think happened to him Charlie" Daisy said in between huge gulps of lemonade and bites of ginger-snaps. Charlie stared at the flowery, overgrown, house across the street, "Maybe he fell in" he said.

Dew

Water seeps from all directions out of every crevice of your body. You feel scorched. Your thirst is slowly controlling each limb. Despite your struggle, you wear a fine countenance, well enough to fool anyone. You limbs writhe and twist aching for that precious extract that will slake all thirst in your soul forever. When you will find this substance is solely dependent on that sweet, sly, smile. How well can you fool others with your face? Only the results of your expedition will answer.

Designing the Stars

    You take my hands and spread them across the night sky sending infinite ripples into the universe. You take my hands and spread them across the star-struck lake with the same effect. We can affect this place; put the still things into motion. We can see the wavy reflections of our faces in the water; our heads are surrounded by halos of light and diamonds. I stand on your feet and we squish them into the supple mud encircling the banks of the lake. I stand below you looking up, not sure if the light in your eyes is a reflection of the stars or if it is your own. Our lights combine, piercing through the indigo veil above us, causing pin-needle holes to scatter above us. Our lights trace the outline of the trees that grace the azure-violet washed landscape. We are impressionists, skewing lines and creating subtitles in our foregrounds. We are creators of this lost universe: piercing, skewing, spreading, standing.

On Fruit

Fruit is a plastic-like substance which we store in our guts. It becomes translated into energy, or pollen. We can see fruit in many aspects of our lives, bathing, grooming, making love. Fruit is often times hard to catch, as it is quite hasty in its visitations. People often misuse fruit, in which case, it is automatically transformed into waste. Fruit can also be found meditating in the woods at night under a yellow harvest moon. Harvest fruit properly, or else it will turn to ash in your hands.

Summer Grasses

  She jumps at the fireflies that bob above her head. It was summer now, so the hot sticky grass sticks to her ankles. Louise had always loved to catch fireflies. She'll put the glowing jar in her room at watch the pulsating lights swirl until one by one they'll fall to the bottom of the jar. But for now, she will jump for fireflies. The moon is full but the sun is still out: the sky is purple and orange. Louise does not hear her mother calling her from walk-around porch. Louise does not smell the fried chicken cooking on the stove nor the lemonade made from the lemons in the grove. She is satisfied with the little lights that dance on the lucid summer breeze. It was one of those summers that Louise knew that would last forever. She would not stop for her dinner, nor for her lemonade, nor for her mother. She knows that she needs to stay with her ankles in the syrupy grass.

Snowball

They hold hands on the branch under the magnolia flowers, each one grasping a snowball. Hers is Wedding Cake his is Granny Smith. His lips turn monster-green as he slobbers and drools all over his crisp yellow shirt. Summer is in full swing for them. Her long blonde curls dip themselves into her cup making her arms sticky. Bees soon swarm around her tickling her arms with their antennas. Letting out a shriek of fear she shoos them away causing the whole brach to shake. Witnessing the unforeseen attack, he makes a gallant slap just in front of her arm. Granny Smiths fall all over her legs, searing her skin with cold. He falls.

How Can I See Myself?

I look in the mirror and I see a ghost: someone who is a shadow within themselves. Glancing and joining eyes with the reflection to find a spark within them. No. I'm hallow. The colorless spheres of glass that inhabit those hallow walls are cracked and leak open with tears, my core flutters and reverberates full of unbalanced sobs. It has been ten years; I wish that you were here: the only one who could understand, who could truly help, help me. They constrict me then attempt to bend me in their direction, but they have finally broken me. I am no longer rooted and solid, I am shattered stone. Their words are ice. Give me your unbiased guidance. They say that need is based on those who call, I'm calling to you, am I worthy? Have you gone so far away that you can not hear me? I put my clothes back on and turn off the light. They say that I am my mother's reflection, but I see a shadow of her within my eyes.