Flowers To My Funeral
For when I lay cold,
I have a request
I would like every guest
To bring something to my rest
Something so delicate
But yet can brighten a day
If the wind is too harsh
It will wither away
Just place it on me
I swear I’ll be still
By nature I am clean
But by hands, I am killed
A single will do
Or maybe a bouquet
The aroma and colors,
Make it easier to be brave
Hallucinations :):
I had a dream
A dream about it
It
It being what I want
Want to be
but can't
I had a dream
He cared
Was careful
With me
I didn't like it
I loved it
I had a dream
It was easy
We understood each other
Without talking
I looked in his eyes
I saw his desires
I fulfilled them
I had a dream
That we
We made each other happy
Fulfiled desires
Inflicted pleasure
Instead of pain
I had a dream
only a dream
i remember
the feeling,
more than the images.
the aching inside me
that made sure
i knew
how alone i was.
i remember
holding death in my hands and
asking my family
if they would miss me.
and they replied,
bitter,
“no, of course not.”
of course not.
and i wake up and see their
smiles
concerns
love.
and i know it’s true.
they love me.
but that
persuasive dream
convinced me
maybe,
they would be okay.
without.
The New Day
“Taco Tuesdays.”
The council made a unanimous sound of exasperation. Some threw their hands up in defeat while others merely shook their heads, muttering under their breath from behind coarse white beards. One councilman had not even bothered to pay attention and was snoozing on his arm at the end of the long polished table. Jacob shrugged.
“I thought it was a good idea.”
“Jacob, as new Ruler of the World you have duties, responsibilities. You have the power to change anything, to fix anything,” Head Councilwoman Wistern advised from her seat to Jacob’s right. “Don’t you think you should choose to do something more…important?” An older lady, she was slightly wilted but still had a zest about her which was probably what kept her at the head of the council for so long. Blue eyes wrinkled with age and wisdom looked keenly at the younger man.
Jacob gave another half-shrug, looking unconcerned.
“Lyonel already solved world hunger with his 3D printers back in 2033,” he began. “David abolished war not long after that, Sharon bridged the equality gap between genders, and Angela is saving more animals and ecosystems than ever with her Wild Earth program. Jim is still working on a non-glitchy version of iTunes but that’s his baby. I dunno, it just seems like all of our major problems are solved. Why not have one day where everyone can just enjoy a free taco?”
The council shared dubious looks.
“Every Tuesday?” Councilwoman Erin asked doubtfully, sipping at her glass of wine.
Jacob ran a hand through his dark curly hair.
“Well, yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Every Tuesday there would be free tacos. You don’t have to have any if you don’t want to; it’s just for people who like tacos.”
“Can they be fish tacos?” Councilman Bayer called out from down the table.
“Sure. I mean, I guess so. There can be all kinds of tacos. Whatever you want.”
The council leaned in to whisper together. Some shot him furtive glances that made him think they still weren’t overly convinced of his proposal. A withered councilman sitting close to Jacob even blocked his face with his hand so the younger man wouldn’t be able to tell what he was saying. A few moments passed in this manner before Councilwoman Wistern straightened in her seat and cleared her throat.
“After much deliberation,” she exclaimed after the group had joined her in facing Jacob, “we have deemed that Taco Tuesdays will come into effect immediately under the pretense that they will be free, be of every sort and variety, and occur every Tuesday from now on until the end of time or until the next Ruler of the World withdraws the decree. All in favor say aye.”
A resounding call of ‘aye’ sounded around the table.
Jacob smiled, content with the verdict. Ruling the world really wasn’t as bad as he thought.
How I Rain
Colors fall from the sky during the reign. Get it? Double entendre. Rain and reign. Because I like colors, don’t you? Rain can be any color while I reign.
Because of course, colors are important. People underestimate color. All whiteness and we go insane. All black and gray and we get depressed, like February. But only bright colors every few months or so. That way we don’t get complacent in our contentedness. I don’t think I need make it rain colors all the time. Colors are important.
But you see, people are too. I think. Important, that is, people are. They might like the colors. But maybe they won’t like my reign? They won’t like the colors I choose? That’s okay. I’m keeping them happy and sane. They can see their own colors most of the time, as long as they see mine every so often. That will ensure that they remember who is raining over them.
Of course, people like to share their own colors with everyone else. Sometimes that’s good. I like that too. But sometimes those bright reds are too brash, and sometimes those purples are smothering. While I reign I’ll have to make sure the colors are nice and even. At least every once and a while when the display gets too bright, and I need a shield to avoid the color spray. That would be too much. And then I’d have to make it rain muted colors to wash out the messy splatter, so that it could begin again.
I guess my reign wouldn’t change much, outside of the rain.
Sloth (This is a Ghost Story)
There's a stain on the wall about four inches to the left of the television set. The stain has been there for a long time. If Daryl were to look at it closely enough, which he never does, he'd still be able to see the spindly remains of an unlucky fly's legs. The fly’s left wing had fallen off from the wall about two weeks after its death, and now rests at the wall’s edge where it meets the floor, paper-thin and invisible, caked in a thin layer of dust.
A poorly-performed burial service.
Sometimes Daryl looks at the stain, but then whatever TV program he’s watching snatches his attention back, and he forgets about it again. Today, HGTV is on. Daryl thinks of changing it, but his hands are covered in barbeque sauce, so he leaves the remote where it is and continues eating. Onscreen, a kitchen is being gutted. Someone is taking a hammer to the cabinets, and Daryl wonders if the man’s safety goggles will leave funny marks around his eyes. He takes another bite of his chicken wing and then sets the plate aside, mostly untouched. He hasn’t had much of an appetite lately. Can’t even bring himself to lick the sticky sauce from his fingers, so he just rests his hands palms up on his lap, fingers curling inward.
There is a sink down the short hallway and into the kitchen, and he thinks of going to it. He’d take the plate of wings with him, maybe, so he could put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow. To Daryl, it doesn’t look like the countertops in the kitchen on his television screen are all that outdated, but a woman named Casey insists it’s necessary for the eventual cohesion of the space, and Daryl figures she probably knows better than him. It looks satisfying, breaking up the pieces and starting all over again.
Outside the window on the left side of the couch, the sun is making its slow descent. Orange bleeds into the room, folding itself into the single, beige pillow and disappearing. Daryl doesn’t notice. They’ve started in on the master bedroom now.
In the daylight, Daryl tells himself that there are things worth doing.
Sometimes he goes to the grocery store and stands in the aisle underneath the blinking fluorescents and tries to remember which kind of ice cream is his favorite. In the end, he just gets chocolate. He’s glad for the automatic checkout lines, the robotic voice of a woman he doesn’t know that asks how many bags he’d like and tells him he can insert his credit card now. There are people here. He can see them even beneath the ugly lights. Terse glances at calorie counts, the playful gaze of a girl holding up a sushi roll for her boyfriend to see. (This one, babe?), a mother reaching for a dropped pacifier, eternal patience etched into her smile lines. Daryl knows he belonged here, once, but the world passed him by a long time ago, and God knows it won’t be slowing down anytime soon. Certainly not for him.
In front of the TV again, Daryl dips into the ice cream container. He’s sure there’s a bowl somewhere in the kitchen, but the cabinets always seem to glare at him, wondering why they’re not being updated. Today, it’s a crime show of some kind. Flashing red lights, caution tape surrounding the outside of somebody’s shattered, suburban life. The camera follows a sandy-haired man and his giant of a partner into the house, bloodstains smudged sporadically along the carpet as they make their way into the foyer. A melted bit of ice cream drips onto Daryl’s socked foot. He ignores it.
“Could be a ghost,” the sandy-haired man says only to his partner, voice dipped too low for the other investigators to hear.
Huh, Daryl thinks. Not just a regular crime show then.
Outside his window, the sun has been down for hours. The dead fly on the wall beside the television screen loses another leg, weightless and tiny and impossible to notice. A packet of barbeque sauce from Daryl’s chicken wings has tipped over, seeping sluggishly into the beige pillow closest to the window. Tomorrow, Daryl will see the unfixable stain, and he will be filled with an overwhelming sadness that cannot be explained.
The day after that, he will sit back down on the couch and finish off the rest of his ice cream. The pillow will be flipped over, barbeque sauce side down.
A poorly-performed burial service.
if only it was a dream
the furious wind is what did it.
not him.
the heavy rain is what drove him away.
not her.
surely it was a dream.
surely this wasn’t happening.
still, she couldn’t close her eyes
for fear of missing the moment
that was starting to feel quite
real.
not a blink
not a sneeze
not a turn of the head.
all was still in her body
as she watched
him go.