The sum of me does not add up.

The blonde swish and the carefree laugh

Does not portray the darkness

Squirreled away inside me every day.

An extrovert, it had been firmly decided,

And I didn't want to let my labelers down.

Only tragedy could upend this decree,

A shock to my entire state of being,

And I broke my shackles,

As pain set me free.

A self imposed introvert,

I studied hard for the role.

To thrive I ran, without looking back,

To escape the me that had been created,

By everyone I'd ever known.

I became an expert in my field,

And reveled in the freedom and joy

of the solitude I treasured,

Marveled in the enjoyment I took

In my unpopular preference

To distance myself from the crowd.

But my stun has dwindled to an ache,

Time has dwindled by bravery away.

And once again,

I smile for the world,

And the world in turn,

Misunderstands me,

Doesn't think to look into me,

The rays of light blinding them

And defining me.

April showers brings

Mayflowers, but in my state

All I get is snow

#haiku #comedy #MinnesotaSpring

Within the depths of my being

in an exercise of futility

I try to fill

the unfathomable void

of my soul

with a kaleidoscope of substances

sex, alcohol and drugs

all of which temporarily

give me respite

from the raging madness

of alchemical dreams

burning in the moonlit mirrors

I seek a complete derangement

of the senses

suffering from perfumed sounds

on seas of shallow thoughts

as cadaverous flotsam drifts by

I find myself at odds with life

I found her in the garden, surrounded by my skeleton. My ribs, a clamped-shut jaw. Her fingers white-knuckling my moon-bleached bones. She doesn’t raise her head, until I am close enough to touch her. I want to touch her. She’s not wearing anything, and her skin is an eruption of nerve-endings. Her eyes are frantic. Fluttering, pacing, glimmering-ghosts. She is unfocused. Kneeling in fresh soil. The earth pooling around her. I’m caging her in. I’m holding her hostage. She’s still. She’s pacing. She’s looking at me, but not. Eyes glassy. Spectral stare. Staring, but not. I want to touch her. She presses her face between my last two, true ribs – T6, T7. She opens her mouth. Staring, but not. Her tongue is shining, too red for this world. Her tongue is made of rose petals. Her tongue is licking my bones. Not moon-bleached. Sucked dry. Expertly cleaned. Her red roses are tumbling around my sternum. She is my sternum. She’s eating me from the inside. She’s stealing the meat of me. She is licking her lips. Salivating. Staring, not-staring. She’s pouring out ghosts. I am losing time.

“I haven’t been able to sleep.”

The tonguing ceases. There is wet glittering at the corners of her mouth. She nods.

“crows?”

It echoes across my bones. Rattles my innards. Feathers kiss the inside of my mouth. Wings beat and float around inside my windpipe. They’re trying to escape. Her voice clangs against my internal organs. Resounding cacophony, clashing through costal cartilage. Roses bloom from the spots she touched. Thorns caressing my veins. Symphony of growing sounds. Growing blossoms. Growing birds. She’s flourishing. She wants out. I break the floating ribs – T11, T12. They splinter away in shards. They’re rushing through me. Targeting my heart. And I am the sternum. And she is the cage. I found her in the garden. Surrounded by my skeleton. I’m peering between bars of thoracic cage. I’m surrounded by my skeleton. Or is this hers? She’s licking the bones. She’s planting seeds. Is this mine or is this hers?

My tongue pushes between my lips, involuntary. I’m salivating. I’m resisting. I’m losing. I’m tasting her ribs. I’m lapping up marrow. Is this mine or is this hers? I am insatiable. Ravenous hunger overpowering insomnia. We are eating to burst. Resistant-tongue grazing petal-tongue. Tastebuds brushing velvet. I am the sternum. I am the hunger. I am the starving. I’m filling with perennial, rebirth. There are vines bursting through me. Climbing my walls. Rebuilding my structure. My bones are wasting away. Saliva eating at the surface. Whittling me down. I’m eating myself out of house and home. I am built of glass. Botanic conservatory. I am transparent. I am spectral. I am verdant. Our eyes meet. She is my resurrection. We are becoming one. We are many. We are one. She is we. I am we. We are we. We are swallowing light. There is no light. What is light? Floral nectar rushes through our veins. We suck out life. We are filling. We are flourishing. We are one.

We eat ourselves, raw.

(this excerpt is from my novella Swallow - available in print here https://www.amazon.com/Swallow-Emily-Perkovich/dp/180016291X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3P8FEJBR0B4Z2&keywords=swallow+emily+perkovich&qid=1680132930&sprefix=swallow+emily+perkovich%2Caps%2C156&sr=8-1 - or lmk if you'd like a complimentary digital copy in exchnage for a review)

Time is something I write about a lot. Time is standing still. Time is flying by.

There's never enough time.

Time is a construct of our own mind.

It lives only in perception. Created to help keep track of what a day is and to separate it from the last.

It's a new day.

If only yesterday.

There's always tomorrow.

But that isn't true, is it?

Tomorrow only exists in your mind. You could walk outside in an hour and get hit by a car on the way to the grocery store. And then people may say, "It's not fair, it was too soon. We wish we had more time."

More time. As if it's something that can be acquired and bargained for. I think what people really mean to say is, "I wish I hadn't wasted the time I had."

Time can be a warden of the prison in your mind,

the kind that traps you inside memories,

the memories that trap you inside your pain,

the pain that replays the memories of things you wish you could change; mistakes you've made, people you miss,

and oh, how you reminisce. But what if tomorrow doesn't exist?

Take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

Time just is. And you are here. Now. In this moment.

What will you do with it?

I fell in McDonalds

When I was three

Deprived of fries

Woe was me

The floor was wet

I was excited

Events blended

Danger unsighted

There may have been

A warning to heed

Not helpful

When you can't read

I got up fast

I had a mission

I did not need

Further permission

"She's fine", they said

I agreed

Not caring when

I began to bleed

Stupid chin

Cut on the floor

A rising pain

I chose to ignore

More important

Were other things

Crispy fries

That heaven brings

Carried away

I shoved and fought

They said I was injured

I cared not

Tears of longing

Couldn't bring fries

An opportunity wasted

Upon fate's surprise

The day was over

Chin gushing and bleeding

At least I learned

The importance of reading

Never thought,

life would feel

just

like sweet dreams,

as a child,

with nothing wrong,

just a heart,

beating strong,

yet enemies,

who can not see

with hammer and chisel

these,

impossible,

beings

are,

sclupting the heart,

into there favourite shape,

no no no,

these shapes,

these whispers,

sing in the ears,

of the decieved,

by the pain,

of that,

unwanted visitor.

that autumn wind,

brings troubled times,

no lies,

no hate,

no suspicion.

Just this porcelian heart,

No,

An impossible force,

striking, that,

ancient

pillar of time,

no button, no simple rewind,

Nonense and hatred arise.

No more lies

No more lies

No aliens inside.

No more pain,

No more time,

trying to live

without,

the thought,

of this porcelian heart,

ticking in that hollow half,

marching to the beat,

of some rotten part,

that friend or foe,

depends how one,

determines,

there worthless

no worth,

there worthless

no worth

no place,

when you are cursed,

with knowing,

a knife in the gut,

tape flowing out,

crimson ribbon flows out

like the wind,

violent and bold,

and all because,

some wretched soul,

wanted to restart,

there precious heart.

—love is dead. The slow

red rush, & in the absence of love we

raise steel walls

& castanet airs to dance

by. Love is gone

& all tenderness faded,

& in its place castles of knowing

in which we

pass our time from

hand to hand.

Hands which once pressed

earth into the shape of men & earth

into bowls for holding

nothing but sound, between sound

silence, melodic, & if dissonance

then beauty in dissonance as well, but always

the bowl,

shaped by hands,

made of earth & music

for lovers to dance by, & when the age

of dancing passed, to mourn by, & the when the age

of mourning passed, to burn

& lie in death.

Hark ye oh,friends and strangers,

A tale there is to speak

About fabled hero,

His name was in old Greek.

I cant remember how it went,

am old and cannot  tell,

But this old nameless hero,

was born to raise some hell!!

But this old nameless hero,

was born to raise some hell!!

A shield he had , the hero,

A rifle , smooth of bore

It was a lover's present,

From a forlorn distant shore

With implements like these he marched

Up mountains , down in dale

But he had   but one talent only

And that was to raise hell!!

But he had   but one talent only

And that was to raise hell!!

His name was Jason, i recall

My mem’ry stirs anew,

I had a fear I'll never know

This noodle’s burnt in stew.

Oh, Jason is the name, at last,

Oh fortune , rung that bell

The smoothbore-rifle’d hero

Who was going to raise hell!!!

The smoothbore-rifle’d hero

Who was going to raise hell!!!

Upon a galley sailed he,

Equipped as I have told,

He knew all kinds of hardships

And often short of gold

Resorted to eat snow and frogs,

and rowed in  gusts and quells

Be he did not complain at all

He’s going to raise hell!!

Be he did not complain at all

He’s going to raise hell!!

He rowed the galley by himself,

And thus he sailed in arcs

One side he rowed and then the next

across the splinterin’ planks,

On benches there sat no one, he

pulled oars alone, propel

Cause all the others got the hint

He was going to raise hell!!

Cause all the others got the hint

He was going to raise hell!!

Perhaps I should have mentioned it,

My memory’s not the best

It’s hard for me to keep this up,

And tell you all the rest

Explain I must, and tell it true

Omit no vague detail,

’bout Jason and his rotten ship

In search of raising hell!!

’bout Jason and his rotten ship

In search of raising hell!!

He reached a distant island

Cruel and jagged, rocks and shoals

The waves crash fiercely on him

broke the keel , and breached the hold

but Jason didn’t mind that much,

He jumped into the swell

And brought his rifle and his shield, he

The best to raise some hell!!

And he brought his rifle and his shield

The best to raise some hell!!

My head hurts much , I beg to rest

And help me take some zinc.

The fire dims , the mind goes numb

To recollect and think.

If I could tell this story

as I was once,  young and hale

Then surly t’would be smoother

Telling Jason's raisin’ hell!!

Then surly t’would be smoother

Telling Jason's raisin’ hell!!

Awash he was, on blackened shore,

His galley torn and sunk,

There was no light and fiercely cold,

But Jason still had spunk,

He gathered, netting all that washed ,

As waves and thunders knell

and made a cosy fire, he

So cold while raising hell!!

and made a cosy fire, he

So cold while raising hell!!

‘tis awkward, I‘ve forgotten now,

That island’s curse’d name

There were no trees to give him fruit

no kindling to take flame

No mango , no bananas

There’s just sand in the dry well

A test of thirst and hunger,

As he went on to raise all hell!!

A test of thirst and hunger,

As he went on to raise all  hell!!

And thus, he, ill-provisioned,

Lips a-cracking he proceed

Along, the shore became a vale

Foreboding his heart plead,

The gravel, black and sharp it was,

A putrid sulfurous smell

He knew at once he was not lost,

He was approaching hell!！

He knew at once he was not lost,

He was approaching hell!！

Upon arriving at the gates ,

Abandoned he all hope

The red horned beast approach’ed

made to tie him with a rope,

But Jason, he did stir and shot

The demon who there dwell,

it was his master that he wants

The boss-man , who raise hell!!

Cause it was his master that he wants

The boss-man who raise hell!!

upon the throne, Beallzebub

her fork tongue flick and flail

Around the dungeon, torture cries,

direction signs in braille,

the learned know, the damned can't see,

through sense of touch they spell

instructions that are written

in the lower decks of hell!!

instructions and directions

in the lower decks of hell!!

now Jason he did bow and kneel

and said 'I've come at last'

this place is gross, and you look bored,

why are you so downcast?

the piece I've got, a smooth- bore rifle,

And a shield O, Belle

but neither is of use to cheer things,

in this disappointing hell!!

but neither is of use to cheer things,

in this disappointing hell!!

the lady, she's a wicked one,

but eager to impress,

the minions sent redecorating,

she wont spare no expense,

and while they hammered, broke the walls

they holed up in her cell,

They matching the cacophony

with randy shrieks of hell!!

They matching the cacophony

with shrieks and cries of hell!!

alas my friends I'm all speeched out,

my throat now hoarse and rough,

i framed in verse this stupid tale,

my affliction was a bluff,

it was no faulty memory,

that brought this artless mell

in rhyming scheme and meter

that should be consigned to hell!!

in rhyming scheme and meter

that should be consigned to hell!!