Bury the Traces (a Poem)

She Bleeds through the Pages

Bury the Traces

of her in your back-
                story. She was a dumb
girl (so you wrote) who never
got along with her-
                self. She wandered
desperate streets barefoot,
eyes wide, marbled,
a zombie made of glass,
her mouth dripping
the remains of those
she had eaten alive.
Now bury her. Just
bury her in your back-
                story and then edit her
out of your
book.

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Bury the Journals (a Poem)

Even though the PAD challenge is over, I'm still in a poeming mood. (I wrote the one below yesterday though.)

Our Pages Are Now Blank

Bury the Journals

and bury them without
protection. Let two dozen
earthworms eat them up,
purify the college-ruled
pages of our past.
Bury them at mid-
                life on the eve
of  the fullest moon.
Save your time
capsule for something
important like that lavish
crumbling cork,
a stopper
for our whispers
                spilling out,
generating red
inky pages
                of me-
mories I’d rather forget.


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