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.

Shadow Twin

Shadow Twin
10/03/2010

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.

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.

Ambiance

Ambiance.

By Katie M. Moss

July 29, 2010

Ambiance.

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.


Ambiance.

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.


Ambiance.

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.

@moonriverphotography.com

TommyGun

TommyGun
By: Katie M. Moss
06/10/2010

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)

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

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.

Patience.

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.