Tagged: empty

stained with specks of juice –

when your battery

when your battery
runs low, the body grows cold,
the skin clammy – this

morning, getting a raw taste
of having something to lose

in the space between,

if we could pinch the

if we could pinch the
two ends of
brunch and bring
them closer, even
together, perhaps
we wouldn’t feel
so full, nor so

** in the absence of The Daily Post from WordPress, here’s your daily prompt: brunch

when the heart aches in

when the heart aches in
the middle of the night, there
is nothing for it –

the body trembles like an
empty house next to the tracks

between you and me

between you and me
is a conversation, waiting
to be sharpened, for

our fingers to get dirty,
emptying that old-school hand crank

emptiness will

emptiness will
always find
you, no matter
how much you
twist, bend,
or fold, it’s
inevitable –
might as well
take a bite

everything is pain-


the problem with having too much
space in the morning
to air your thoughts
is that you have to have more
thoughts. this is
as natural and irrefutable
as folding bedsheets
at eight a.m. alone
only to unfurl them
at eight p.m., still
alone, with barely
a clap of fabric
to acknowledge the latitude

In this world of hierarchies,
I guess we all need something beneath us.
– Jonathan Mooney, The Short Bus

almost american
you can’t coax an orange to grow
the way you can a migrant worker to
climb two stories into a tree of
thorns, atop a ladder nestled in
insecurity. you can also convince
him to stay up there until he picks
a nearest full ninety-nine-
pound sack, and then you can press him
into repeating himself sixty, seventy,
or eighty times – depending
on the fairness of
sky – and by nightfall
you can stuff forty-nine
dollars into his pocket and one
juicy orange into each of ours

john bowe excerpt