*Welcome to My Blog*

Positive feedback is always appreciated.


*Posts from Before the Dawn to Cynicism and a Glass of Wine were written before the blog was created-(July 2008, November 2009- January 2010)

Friday, December 3, 2010

The Other

The Other

I’ll open my eyes, she says in her head.
The sunlight blurs, sharpens, focuses.
She stretches her torso, tells herself today is different.
Her brain doesn’t know it yet. Only her body.

She tries to run her fingers through her tangled hair--
Looks over. Remembers.
She sees a reflection of herself, only different--
A mass of blood, bones, a carved-out shell. The Other.

The birds outside don’t know it.
Birds go about their business, disregarding ours.
But inside, there is a war.
Of power. Of wits. Of corpses.

I’ll close my eyes, he says in his head.
It’s too early for birds.
He spins into nothingness.
His body doesn’t know it yet. Only his brain.

In his dreams, he sees a mirror.
A reflection of himself, only different.
He has her eyes, but what they reflect is only himself.   

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Grey Lady

Grey Lady
October 14, 2010-- Edited December 2010

I flow through grey space
Like a t.v. screen
Like a misty dream
Grey space is grey matter. I float. I cling.

But that one thought I can't escape.
It chases me— by night, by day.
I see his furrowed, harried face--
In triumph then it merged to hate.
I tell you now-- he lost his face.
For every line just disappeared,
and was replaced by own fear.

The energy still flows through me.
But from above, and down below
is not the same as possessing.

My face, I know, It turned to stone.
No longer then, the dew did kiss--
My body formed of emptiness.
But still I stay, so in-between.
The body's gone— but still I cling.

His cast his lot,
He knew his fate.
To choose torment from me by day--
and night I lay beside him still--
wedged in between he and his wife,
for whom I used to serve, in strife.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Shadow Twin

Shadow Twin

Heavy weight of freight car trains presses down like
Winter winds, like woolen blankets, like damp foreheads,
Akin to your late-night words.
Sometimes  I think I hear you on the muffled line,
Strangling your words—oppressing love, hate
But then I realize that you’re right in front of me.
Shadows never really go away.
They creep around surfaces. Fluid and agile, they slip through cracks
They slip through time, space.
They risk detection.

I tell you every day you’re disappearing.
Your shadow sticks. No need to sew it back on.
You wish it wasn’t so dark, messy.
You wish it didn’t make you so fragile.
Your other half, your coup de grâce.
When life fades, you merge.
You were always your darker twin.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Strawberry Heart

Strawberry Heart
September 4, 2010

Sometimes I feel my heart has the consistency of a strawberry frozen fruit bar.

It’s frigid, and hard. It melts under pressure,
but can be delicious to bite into.
I imagine I have a fork, digging out pieces one at a time.
I eat it myself. It refuses other lips.

It’s more delicious that way.

My brain I imagine is made of foam, like the models you see in science class.
It has different colors and labels.
Things like “memories you want to forget,” or “nights you can’t remember.”
Its foaminess expands with the knowledge I put into it.
I again hold the fork with the label “one night stands.”

                              It tastes semi-sweet, like dark chocolate or red wine.

They both taste so good, it’s hard to stop eating.
So I gorge myself on the crumbs; I bite into the rinds.
Soon, there will be nothing left to consume. 
Soon, you know, I will run out of time.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010



By Katie M. Moss
July 29, 2010


Dark night clouds form shadows of the legends gone before,

Of the anger from the shore,

Of the seas that part no more.

Crisp green meadows full of dew,

Full of shadows,

Full of you.


Colors undefined. But unlikely. Rest assured.

You are welcome yet aboard.

Welcome to the stone-turned-melted-glistening night.

Without a fight.

You have a right.

Ice and fire. Cold, dark night.

Ship is sailing out of sight.

Out upon the onyx stone ocean.                          

Outward from the white-washed shore.


Eternity. Within our sight, yet out of reach.

The ship sails on, our eyes can see,

But never touch. The ship is never tangible.

It's empty. You can't reach it.

It's not even real.

Upon it sits your own worst enemy.

Thursday, June 10, 2010


By: Katie M. Moss

He drags her body across the sandpaper/hardwood floor,
Scraping her knees as her body fumbles to bend back to life.
“Take a look in that mirror, doll,” he says.
“You’re covered in soot.”
He places her before it. Glances twice, looks away, shakes her.
She mumbles as she stares down at the floor.
“Pull yourself together, baby, we’ve made it this far”
She only mumbles more, as she stares down at the floor.
He sits her down on the hardwood, grabs his coats as he leaves,
Tips his hat.
“Nice meetin’ you, ma’am,” he says, as he stares down at the floor.
“I’ll be seein' you next Tuesday at four.” 
She grabs the gun he’s left on the sofa. She can’t take it anymore.
“I’ll be waiting for you some other place, Tommy.”
“I’ll meet you at the door.”

(Image from "KillKissBang@blogspot)

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Young Man's Barn

The Young Man’s Barn
By: Katie M. Moss

The red-yellow-golden brown flakes glide across the earthen crust of a barren wind-chilled day,
As horses shake their tasseled manes in the painted-fire sky.
Groans of hard-pressed use flows across their chocolate-brown-honey coats.
Today the wind is changing.
They can smell it, fear it, taste it.

Red-necked skin-scorched man stumbles out of a wasteland-grey stump of a fluid-filled home.
“Every day’s the same,” he chants.  “Every day’s the same.”
“Nowhere left to go,” he says, as the horses shake their manes.

May 22, 2010

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Virtues of a Poet

Virtues of a Poet
By: Katie M. Moss
April 28, 2010

Fate is like the wallflower sitting next to me at the cafeteria table.
She sighs, she mumbles, but she doesn't affect her surroundings.
She's there, without really being there.
Love is the same way.
It's what I feel when I sit on the park bench next to the dumpster, next to the bus stop.
It involves a lot of waiting in a period of time that smells like waste.
Hope, don't make me laugh.
I killed it this morning in my garden. It took awhile, but the spade won in the end.
It's all crusted with dirt and worm intestines now. Thanks a lot, hope.
I don't have enough to finish this line.
Charity. I'm supposed to clothe my neighbor,
but I'd rather go shopping. Hope that clears things up.
Faith. Because trusting in ourselves isn't hard enough.
The only human I have faith in is my dog.
And he's Canis lupis familiaris.
I wish I had a cat.
I wish this list were longer, but that's enough of that. 


By: Katie M. Moss
April 28, 2010

This is another piece of love-struck poetry brought about by rapid change.
This is the feelings I relate within my own grey walls of space.
This is today, tomorrow, and next year.
This is more the instant. This is modern language.
This is a type 2 personality profile of a no-good-very-bad day.
This is a gift of pure hack and bullshit poetics covered in grimy mis-matched fuzzy socks.
This is the now. This is rhetoric slime and run-of-the-mill modern style.
This is life. This is a toast to the good, the bad, and the static in-between.
This is to moving on. This is to the fuzzy-headed feeling your dryer sheets bring.
This is monumental, unchanging, unfeeling, and uncertain.
This is you.
This is me.
This is the neighbor in my basement who verbally abuses his spouse.
This is my friend with an eating disorder.
This is to the beginnings of addiction.
This is to long nights.
This is to thinking you're unique when there are millions of others just like you.
This is for humanity.
This is giving a shit.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010


By: Katie M. Moss

Arc of the white bird’s wing frames itself against the circumflex sky
As my thoughts wander freely over the stone-peaked mountains--
Over the chimney-soot houses
Over the color-purple stained sky.
Sheen-golden slanted lightening of the golden, ripened sky.

Knots of the warm-pressed masses pass--
Past windows, streets, doors--
Heading towards a folding destination--
Line forming is a lackadaisical river bend--
Serpent-weaving, marred out of consciousness of thought.

Bands of color brace against the love-stained sidewalks--
covering the relics of the people left behind.
Of war
Of peace
Of in-between.
Of exploration never found.

Of dreams never reached .
Of generations left to find the work again. 
Dropping commodities and cares in the sea of stillness that will never wash away.
We will simply fade and weave--
Like a bird’s white folded wing.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010


So, a group did a presentation today in class and asked that we do a "free write" based on being in the following situation: You're on a mountain alone, snowshoeing and you come across this terrifying creature: how do you feel? It was an activity about translation of texts. Now, I can't find the exact picture, but it looked something like this:
---Except facing the camera more, looking more vicious, and surrounded by snow. So, this probably doesn't "translate" well itself since you're seeing a different source than my original. But, to my thoughts:

By: Katie M. Moss
07 April 2010

Walking on the desolate, snow-frosted mountain-- full of ethereal white beauty and thoughts of the sea,
I hear the steady thump, thump of a heartbeat other than my own.
I am no longer alone with my thoughts in this wasteland wilderness--
My new self is now clearly exposed.

Chills crawl up and down my arms and neck as my breath freezes like a block of hard, rough ice in my chest.**
What I see is a monster---
What I see is myself.

Myself reflected--
A version of myself.
Nature's own version:
Green-yellow eyes and blazing white, rock-shard teeth.
Do I stay and face the beast--
or retreat from nature's mirror- into the snow-covered tangles of branches I should have never left behind? **
My fear consumes the heat surrounding my ice-blocked chest.
My heart melts.
My body remains. 

**BTW, I'm extremely frustrated that I can't fit all of my longer lines on the same line in this format. Please ignore the breaks. 

Sunday, March 28, 2010

The Chamber

The Chamber
By: Katie M. Moss

The warmth sustains me in my dark, lightless chamber.
The rays slide effortlessly through the bars of the window--
Leading me, begging me, to come outside.
I smell flowers, and spring, and heaven‘s dew upon grass.
I open my eyes, and  see the four posts of my own bed. 

The birds sound the same, in this still room of mine.
The flowers still flowers, and vines--
--wrap around the posts of my bed.
I wish I were dead.
How I wish I were dead.
For but to live, as happy as this--
Is quite surely bliss--my soul’s own new bliss.
Sustainable bliss.
From one little kiss.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Le Parapluie

Le Parapluie
By: Katie M. Moss

I forgot my umbrella on purpose today--
I’ll wash him away, I’ll wash him away.
Le parapluie, le parapluie
Quand il était avec moi, il y a toujours pluie.

Mais, tu-- Tu as apporté la soleil--
Mon cœur, Mon cœur
Mon coeur t'appartient.
Your energy--- it covers me.
I left my umbrella on purpose today--
I’ll wash him away, I’ll wash him away.

Every day, decisions faced, can go this way or that.
We choose, or not--- we cast our lot, into the world of men.
Agony or jubilance, triumph or defeat--
All this rain, not unlike tears, will wash all over me.
But life is fair, good fate is kind--- yet only you control your mind.
---Our rainbows now are intertwined.
I ignored my umbrella on purpose today--
I’ve washed him away, I’ve washed him away.

Thursday, March 11, 2010


By: Katie M. Moss
March 11, 2010

From there to here, I don’t know how,
Don’t fully understand, the rift between us and why--
We’ve closed the gaps, left open by hard shame and fear and--
In between, and somehow gotten to the place we--
Are right now, so easily-- it scares me how--
The ship that sailed so long ago, somehow has made--
Its way around.
To nowhere, somewhere, all around--
Is love, or something like it, in the air and in--
The water here, and there, and all the places in between us.

I no longer wish for no more mistakes--
 I only wish--
To see your face, and for you, to see--
This place that you have been, for all this--
Time and space and for my aches, and pains and something like--
The nothingness that’s been within in us both--While we‘re alone---
I thought I knew--
What we Thought, or knew, or believed--
Or even hoped.
It’s dead.
And I’m alive again.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

White Cotton Gowns

White Cotton Gowns
By: Katie M. Moss

General confusion.
She types in the archetypal click-click pattern,
As her eyes follow the dusty old keys.
This will be her new beginning.
This will be her blank life filled.

Snow on her toes as she trudges up the mountain.
Dirt in her heart as she trudges through the streets.
Garbage filled, sorrow filled, guilty streets of life.
White powder cleansing it, shards of daylight.

Brain, body, soul, up in the air.
Transcending words, transcending her cares.
Stop light. Red squares of delicious, malevolent hope.
Green is go. Jealously and luck swaying to and fro.

White cotton flowers. Strands of hair. Daffodil petals.
In the moonlight.
In the sunlight.
Ivory, porcelain.
Re-creating life.
She soaks the sunlight through her damp fingertips.
She sways in the wind of her sisters gone before.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse
By: Katie M. Moss

When I was young, I loved a boy.
His black tresses swirled in the wind of our restless nights,
His smooth lips touched mine more times than there are grains of sand on the shore.
Our nights were filled with passion-- eternal, slow-touch  rhyme.
I knew him that was certain.  I knew him for a time.

He left on a vessel bound for the waters, as I skipped rocks on the harbor--
--rubbing my hands to feel the friction, rubbing my hands on salty brine.
In his letters, he called me his lighthouse. His lone jewel on the glistening sea.
I tied my letters up in twine. I sent letters time- to- time.

He weathered the storms, he explained, because I was shining.
His skin smelled of salt, passion, and sweetened gin.--- Mine of the wind.
We slept under the same stars- a blanket of earth, and pine-leaf scatterings nestled our dreams.

--I heard no more of him, I believed him dead.

I woke up most nights sweating and reaching out--
My toes all jumbled up in the cotton-thread sheets, nestled by another.
I’d reach out and find him, unfamiliar, sleeping peacefully because of my presence--
I unmercifully because of his.

A ship sailed back into the harbor. Without a lighthouse, he said, they were lost in a storm.
He pulled my body close to his,
He placed his hand on my chest,
-and I knew--though waves were crashing all around us, he had been there all along.

He started skipping rocks on the shore, fumbling feet in the sand, only in daylight.
I watched out of my window, tasting the sea.
I dreamed I was a boat, tossed about in a storm that had no end.
He tasted gin and barley, he dreamt of the night.

He whispered, words uncertain-- As he clasped the rushing sand between his fingertips.
He meandered in the water, and then he closed his eyes.
He opened his mouth, inaudible words escaping his lips.
Only I could hear them, as I waded in behind him.
He said, the sea is endless- as is your love and mine.

I walk out to the harbor, past summers and slow time.
Dressed in white and dizzy--
Drop in a bottle, wrapped with  twine.
For you, it says, I am so grateful.
As I toast his soul and mine. 

Before the Dawn

Before the Dawn
By: Katie M. Moss

Red lips.
Hot Kiss.
Vodka tonic.
All-night frolic.

Freelance love.
Your mama’s glove.
Dizzy smile.
Please stay awhile.

Midnight flesh.
With no regrets.
You’ll never miss me.
So, baby, kiss me.

Mr. Prynn

Mr. Prynn
By: Katie M. Moss
(Summer 2008--British Studies--Children’s Lit)

Among the vines of Mrs. Prynn’s castle, there is a dog who’s become quite a hassle.
Every day he sits and stares--takes notice of all the Mrs.’ cares.
His droopy eyes, his dripping mouth--his stomach begins to wander south.
His canine teeth are brown and gruff-- his countenance says more than enough.
His doggy ears, his canine tears-- they all are more than they appear.

The widow weeps, the tears run down.
She thinks someday that she might drown.
Days go by--long and drawn out--
Her feeble heart finally gives out.
A coffin is laid about.
Her children all are dressed in black--
Heirlooms all are wrapped and packed.
The children shall see their mother no more--
They wave goodbye trifled and sore.
Two doggies meet them at the door.
Their bushy tails wag to and fro---
The puzzled children onward go.

Sweat on the Line

Sweat on the Line
By: Katie M. Moss

Sensory touch.
My fingers slide across the glass of the phone booth panel.
Flesh on glass.
Breath, foggy.
Heating up the night.

Insider’s touch.
Fingernails brush hips as they sway with the sound.
Tongue on teeth.
Teeth on the receiver.
Body pulsing.
Heating up the night.

Tangible touch.
Fingertips dial the numbers his frame knows so well.
Sweat on the line.
Aching, pleading.
Dial the right number.
Heat up my night.

Ambiguous Bodies

Ambiguous Bodies
By: Katie M. Moss

Mania drifts in through my dreams.
Awake, asleep--it’s all the same.
Manic-- Mania-- shifting brain.
Are dreams our life, or just pretend?
As cloudy bits we shape and shift,
The gods, our neighbors--molding rifts.

Our souls entwined with rubber bands,
The product of our one night stands.
A farce, a play, a slight refrain--
We’re all just waiting for the rain.


By Katie M. Moss

Brown leaves.
Yellow leaves.
Pink leaves-- brown.
You and I--my whole world-- spinning round and round.
The grass is dying, murky brown.
Summer’s ending, fall is too-- I lose hope and I lose you.
Coming home’s just not the same.
Facing what I used to be.
Learning what I still am not.
My heart more callous, over years.
My mind forgets --myself I fear.
Living day by day, new is old.
Old is never--story untold.

Your Move

Your move.
By: Katie M. Moss

Mysteries unraveling
Point us to the cloudy shapes
Point us to whatever takes- us in.
Solemn midnight goodbyes
Hang on while we watch and die.
Hang on while we sit and wait--wondering.

Tiny voices, tiny songs
Whisper to us all day long
Whisper to us till we’re grown-silently.
On a new embark we go
Onward through the wind and snow
Onward through, we laughing go-casually.

Are we wake or are we dreaming?
Desperately, we are screaming
Desperately, we are clinging- hopefully.
Never knowing always doting
Always painful, always moping
Always empty, always marred- carefully.

What we don’t we’ll never know
Never shapes us while we grow
Never tells us what is so-dutifully.

Apple Trees

Apple Trees.
By: Katie M. Moss

What’s this feeling I can’t control?
It creeps and crawls-- it’s midnight’s way.
My life, my loves, my silly heart.
My eyes don’t cry-- you’d never know.
This awful weight you left behind.
This feeling‘s cold-- I left my scarf.

You’d think I’d know a bit by now.
Like how to lose a deep affection.
Like how to tell my heart I’m no longer interested.
But, I’m just left here with an empty, black hole.
You left your shovel-- in my hands.
I can’t help but use it.
You forgot it on purpose, I think.

Cynicism and a Glass of Wine

Cynicism and a Glass of Wine
By: Katie M. Moss

Love is always, always fleeting
Never felt and void of meaning
Fingers slipping from the feeling
Fingers slipping, grasping, reeling
It escapes us turn by turn--
One more loss is one more earn.

Shadowy cane drags you away
It’s not your turn; it’s not my play.
My face is masked.
Every day.
Every day.

Fingers fold the cobwebs of dreams away.
I hope they’ll go-- I pray they’ll stay.
Cups of coffee, pints of beer
Sultry lips and hips so near.
Violent, violent aches my heart.
Dreadful, aching, tears will start.
Kiss me darling, till you’re dead.
Kiss me through my foggy head.
Dreams are made--- to forget.
Love is made, but never spent.