Wednesday, August 22, 2012


The Prince

she never dreamed of him
if she had he would have startled her awake
the image sucked back into her unconscious before she could capture it

she dreamed of lesser men
and when she saw him
standing in the dirt against the hot summer trees
admiring her silver shoes
she could not even imagine
that he would touch her
with more than his hot summer smile

but later he would hold her
before the mirror
showing her the combined creature
that their bodies made
something so taking-of-breath
she could hardly recognize it
for her head was light
a-spin with a storm
of wings and flowers

later still she would run from him
afraid he would see what she really was
and leave her
so she ran first
down the steps of her dreams
back to the cellar
hiding amongst cobwebs
doing the witch's work
but growing slowly stronger day by day

it would be a long time before she had the dream
of his palace of gray marble
furnished in crystals tall as he
and tables topped with pools of lotus
floating and pink as her hidden self
it would be a long time before he held her again
and she did not deny that he was really there
and she did not run


  1. please send links to your favorite images for inspiration and i may post some of them. dark fairy tale stuff preferred but not necessarily. keep writing. thank you for your words. love flb

    1. i feel like this whole set would be relevant to your interests. they are so gorgeous. The one I was originally going to post about is the one of the woman and horse towards the end, but all of these are amazing.

    2. (the always amazing Marco Mazzoni) (Tod Kapke, especially the 1st, 2nd and 4th pictures)


      especially have a look at

      you may like the fact that this is what happened when i gave her one of your books

  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

  3. with fists clenched in front of him
    he's in a pose
    is this what we do?

    pose for a picture
    pose for a life
    this is how i want to be remembered
    this is how i want you to see me
    young, strong, fierce, brave, courageous

    look again
    slightly yellowed from age
    ripped corner torn off

    stereotyping masculinity
    hasn't changed that much

    is it ok for a man to share he's gay?
    won't he still be punched with his truth?

    how many hide behind a manly pose?
    someone else's ideals
    someone else's dream for him

    is he still fighting against it?

  4. you remain only my perception
    of our relationship based on
    i feel i revealed all of me
    yet don't have a full grasp
    or image of you.
    you fade in and out
    a series of contrasting bright lights,
    lips, shadows, angry eyes.
    you frighten all of us
    but you don't really mind
    being a monster, only
    frustrated that you can't hide it

    i've moved on, tried to be
    a kinder person and to never
    let my limbs stop reaching,
    to touch rays of the world
    absorbing its knowledge and
    beauty and occasional
    sinister man who i convert
    chemically within my cells
    to be a part of me where he
    remains an abstract noun
    glued together by ligaments
    and blood and fragmented
    remembered glimpses of soul

  5. Stand

    So I stand
    still as a prince
    waiting for the ball to begin
    waiting to dance with the well-coiffed
    well-heeled well-sated barons
    who wish nothing more than my health
    to flop like a fish before them.

    In these hands are my feet.
    I walk with blood and bone
    your face my path
    your body my escape
    from the stones I'd be picking instead
    for them to grind me into dirt
    if I did not walk for them
    with these hands.

    Only the earth strikes back
    lifting rocks into my ribs
    and there is no running.

    So I stand
    and get ready
    to walk.

  6. The Great Deluge

    if knocked over would your strength spill (lava-thick
    onto the floor,
    creep/drip through the floorboards? or
    flood into the house (in rapids
    push us up through the attic
    the strength of your strength holding us up
    like a champion
    if your strength just kept spilling
    like BP
    would our livelihoods be endangered (ruined?
    would your strength's strength sprout another?another strength?
    what are we? three strength's deep?
    is it infinite? is it strength all the way down?
    what about you? and saving yourself.
    or would you drown in your own deluge of greatness?

  7. #6

    Time was not kind before he knew it-- it had gone
    and fighting to get it back
    he realized
    no time machines exist here
    time only continues to move
    one direction,
    only memories living in the past
    in the pages of a book
    in photographs on smartphones
    but time keeps moving on
    and the fight keeps going on
    we keep moving on.

  8. collections of teacups
    antique frames
    fake roses
    shabby chic furniture
    lost photographs
    found at antique stores

    I used to breathe and do yoga
    to cook myself healthy food
    to bake myself cookies, buy myself flowers

    now I leaf through old books and chain smoke
    and dust off my collections of broken miniature tea sets

    I have utterly given up on Love
    painted up my face like geishas and porcelain dolls, danced, and filled my life with beautiful things and diamond rings

    I opened up my arms with a smile and openness, my heart dangling from a diamond pocket watch.

    Still no Lover came to me, still no lover comes.
    I surround myself with boxes now, becoming a russian nesting doll, there is no yearning or pining, no loss
    just numbness
    knowing the next man who comes to me will break open the stone cold where the stories hide
    and they will fly loose with the curses on my lips
    then he will leave me alone, but not meaning he was ever with me, just leaving my dreams of him to smolder while he never arrives to begin with.

  9. 1967 red paint peel
    the pride he felt
    smothering me in
    gasps of giddiness
    we pushed our
    boots on the roof
    and swam until
    our lips grew blue
    strummed our snapped
    stringed guitar on
    the broken shelled shore
    built a fire with our poor
    printed lyrics
    we’ll find the meaning
    of life by twenty three
    we used to think
    arguing about the
    validity of Nietzsche
    I don’t believe in God
    one of us would say
    and the other would
    gasp in giddiness
    what a thing to say
    we still thought he was

  10. (Late again T_T)

    I dreamt of you
    saw you clearly across the nebula
    where souls commence their journeys
    back to flesh and bone
    I felt your presence, your intent
    to come to me
    right now it is so easy to forget
    that you loved me first
    love me enough to have be me your guide
    its easy to forget that we're divine
    and that our souls promised love
    along with hardship and strife
    but no worries I will remember always
    that love brought you to me
    and in times when you pull away
    love will bring you back
    because I dreamt you coming to me
    across the nebula
    love a tether

  11. I'm taking your title as inspiration.

    The Prince.

    Godmothers are
    a rarity, along with
    witches with
    recipe books full of
    spells of transmutation,
    transformation, inspiration,
    or kind forest spirits,
    or magic mirrors,
    or ever afters.

    It is perfectly valid for me
    to question the quality
    of princes these days.

    And I,
    who wouldn't know what to do
    with glass slippers, who
    dances in black boots,
    who doesn't wait, who
    doesn't sleep,
    who doesn't quite believe in
    ever after


    Are there punk rock princes
    in stranger kingdoms
    with mohawk crowns?

    Are there rock and roll
    princes who slay
    beasts with songs instead
    of swords?

    Are there princes
    with wicked smiles to
    let down my hair
    and wake me with a kiss?