A Handful of Dust

These fragments I have shored against my ruins.

[ahandfuladust]

UTENSILS i am the plott hound of hell and hunger and want which tumbles and folds, folds and never cleans all my folly splayed on a riddled plate portioned-- as if to measure thing with thing picking my teeth with a fork, i pray this weakness i suckle on no sin i am a sickly pale-pink from whence comes my pardon, covered in soot twisting knuckles, hands you become void as I beg for absolution and choke like swallowing teeth all those moments we gave breath we orphaned-- to the cavernous dark, the wild gorging our children whole redeemed and then-- vapor without even my fill you are abysm i survey your delicious throat and i guzzle you with my straw-- never sated

"Utensils," K.E.B.

[ahandfuladust]

"Fleet of Winter White," K.E.B.

[ahandfuladust]

RELATIVELY SPEAKING the truth is not an absolute thing, I said head cocked to the side, too long and still-- as if to hold frame and I'm not talking in abstractions or Capital letters any more than I ever am I said, the truth is relative as you draw from the deck, measured--you finger the Ace You choose. not the name of an ex-lover when you swear you heard it, swear you saw it clinging to her lipstick, harlequin in its dance-- but the name itself And it was never there in the first place It evades. The truth, yes is the light of morning in a snowstorm when the Sun itself is a dull, shapeless thing something you chose to believe like the shape of your mouth in the dark

"Relatively Speaking," K.E.B.

[flxwercrown]

[ahandfuladust]

Imagine Dragons, "Nothing Left to Say/Rocks" (from Night Visions)

[ahandfuladust]

Jewel, "Foolish Games," (Live, 1998)

[ahandfuladust]

I'D SING A CHORUS FOR THE SAINTS, TOO Slowing to a stop, I cough everything smells like McDonald's and car exhaust As the tires roll, garish a strip-tease to the asphalt, the taskless sky a pygmy your teeth give you away Strung out on the edge of the parkway before noon a harlequin in the waxing sun My brakes squeal like a rusty hinge When the offering is passed, I have no coin for his hand and he, no voice to scream He stands, boot straps folded like the shape of God's eyelids, and releases his neck to the Blue Ridge breeze, now cold cooling bites the dust of the air for bread, a vagrant draped in tire exhaust I blink as if to say “I too am human” or “Cover yourself, my God” and boarish, half-wild he shakes his arm white like a cocaine dream But I mean nothing to him, thumb not even raised Suddenly, something sours inside me, some poison in this crisp mountain air My stomach knots at his lack of shame or the fullness of mine I accelerate, my feet three times their weight “At least when I want to get fucked I close the door first”

"I'd Sing a Chorus for the Saints, Too." K.E.B.

[ahandfuladust]

"Ether," K.E.B.

[quote-book]

Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.

Albert Einstein (via quote-book)

[ahandfuladust]

Egon Schiele, "Woman in Black Stockings" (1913)

[ahandfuladust]

Fitz and the Tantrums, "Out of My League"

[ahandfuladust]

NOTES ON MY MURDER Siren. Silence. I am swimming in the acid in my stomach a blue-lipped child, finned, in a cement pool a puddle of gelatin and bile I paddle without moving I float— God willed it. Softly I chew on the color of darkness a canker sore I tongue and as the water dries, I dissipate A phantom limb in the sheets, cold My mouth is a scythe my lips... And suddenly I, I am swallowing with chalk in my mouth (O, what will?) The reality of fear alights on my tongue, claw-footed alongside the brine of my tears, it chokes me My tongue a balloon I do not want this death, this no God could have willed such ignominy Painted in the bedsheets of night-sweat, too afraid to stir to bolt the windows, the door—to mutter “we are safe now” fingers arms supple legs writhing out I struggle against each misguided step and convince myself he is no prophet I cannot stand for it, I will not Do not cry, china doll, we are safe an exposee the reality of a hand that bleeds And still, my mouth is a scythe

"Notes on My Murder," K.E.B.

[ahandfuladust]

Maroon 5, "Love Somebody"

[ahandfuladust]

"Contra Sunlight," K.E.B.

[ahandfuladust]

BLOOMERS Once covered in moss, I emerge naked— (lips pale, hair loose about my taut shoulders) My body unfolding as if to reveal some something to shake to this quaking sphere, fruit-bat wings yes yes I am a goddess hell-bent against the flow of the tide In front of this clouded mirror, I stand, beaded in drops of silver (like something painted, yes) as if to burn in effigy O, purity to bathe in it skin all beauty, white like rigid mountain peaks like you in my hands. We exist WE EXIST, the thought A mere tremble in the night, the soft breath of a dying child a whimper no yes I was a goddess but I died. That shadow, amber-musked and tickling my bare nose the black lace floating... (O, how she must have worn it like a virgin playing pin-up) ...it darts at me, sharp pain in the abdomen (a miscarriage) A nightgown hanging on the back of the door, neck broken like something dead I walked in on a suicide— It's just blood, I tell myself, just blood I bite my lips for taste but sense nothing The blood is not mine. My head floating atop the water in the mystic green of night like a child's beach ball, limp and hot air and I purse my lips like a dead fish and grasp for my jeans amid the lipstick, the Chanel ...the floating relics of beauty queens I frenzy as the water rises Where is the body? Whose? I wish I had the words I wish I had words to speak— The blood is mine. And as I twirl in a dizzying not-drunk I gather my things and wish... I'd never left behind the soft girl in bloomers

"Bloomers," K.E.B.

[ahandfuladust]

The Neighborhood, "Sweater Weather" (from I Love You)

[ahandfuladust]