New Math
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.
Springtime in Minnesota
April showers brings
Mayflowers, but in my state
All I get is snow
#haiku #comedy #MinnesotaSpring
I Suffer Maggots of the Mind
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
Swallow - Excerpt
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
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?
McAccident
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
Restart my mind
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
—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.
The Lamentable Ballad of Jason (not the argonaut, but he had a galley, believe it or not)
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!!
blue in the age of uncertainty
i am so lazy,
cold beyond reason,eschew
morbid thoughts of food.
word word word word wordddy...