Needle

I ain't no victim, see?

I knew what I was doing

when the sharp steel tongue

of the hypodermic needle

kissed the crook of my arm,

slid through my skin

and left me sighing,

eyes dilated, body shaking

with joy. I took it out

and washed it clean

like the shaft of a lover.

Challenge

Prose Challenge of the Week #38: Write a piece of micropoetry about what summer means to you. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge

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157 reads

Texas Summers

The sun's exhale

plucking droplets of sweat from my skin.

Mosquitoes and lizards gorging. Cicadas at night

wailing like end-of-times preachers.

The feeling of breathing in the heat of death.

Challenge

Prose Challenge of the Week #37: Write a piece of poetry or prose inspired by or using the following word: Manifest. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge

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117 reads

Pygmalion

The voice: make me, make me.

His hands sculpt the clay, round it. The grit of his lover digs under his ragged nails. Curves and breasts perfect for having been created by him, for her. His lover, who possesses him.

Make me, make me.

He forms each hair. He slips away cold flesh to shape the eyelids and the eyes behind them. No woman could ever be so beautiful to him; no other woman wears a body made of his fantasies. He now knows why Prometheus stole the fire from the gods and gave it to the grimy, naked, shivering humans he made. A creator will do anything for his creation, will even die.

Sculpting her is like making love. The clay is soft and yielding as flesh. He imagines her entering the body, warming the cold clay, moving those lips to speak to him.

Challenge

Prose Challenge of the Week #36: Write a Haiku or Tanka describing a colour without using the name of the colour. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge

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140 reads

Red: A Tanka

The vice on your heart.

The running blood. The tightness

that cords your muscles,

that etches your arteries

into your skin like an oath.

Challenge

Prose Challenge of the Week #35: Write a piece of micropoetry that draws inspiration from the following word: “Equality.” The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge

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159 reads

Just Mexicans: A Prose Poem

In the Texas bramble: the graves of two men without death certificates. Two of thousands (shot by heroes).