The Married Man by Erika Hommel

Yes,

do break my heart,

hands enough to swallow

last evergreen timber presence

before  pulling back his woolen skin

revealed the oaked age of disaster

hair squirming down choked tongue

he’ll tie off silence with a dirt nod

lost our song,

too long ago.

your answer by Erika Hommel

I want you here

in the dead span of time

when closed eyes detect

a dedicated dance that

cells perform under lids

I want you here

in woven,

ever expanding chambers

circulating every prodded word

or stillborn thought

like orange smoke

bending & folding

into itself

seeping off stars

I want you

here

hush by Erika Hommel

in the spot where he was

slept in his scent

 it’s just a he

                    not a name

 a bag of flesh

               freedom from loneliness

wool settled

                        over morning’s lead

hard to make available

reality and dreaming,

carved fresh moss creviced mountains,

orphaned restless glaciers,

lecturing louder envelopes more silence

looping stale breath

cotton ribs

   the brown,

            maroon

freckled oak

           golden leaves,

dying on my tongue

rocking thick buried air

            appears to be

merely a dream

Thoughtlessness by Erika Hommel

I don’t know why you don’t wear bottoms to bed

considering we are platonic friends-

I don’t know why I have to wear bottoms to bed

if we are friends

but I put them on anyway

confused in a robotic manner, watching the comforter

fold under itself, slowly instituting myself back in bed,

I’ve lied about the level of his writing, it sucks

and he sucks and all this fucking sucks-

well then what was Friday?

You know I’m a sucker for blow jobs.

Therapy by Erika Hommel

Laurel is talking

and I just want to shake the shit out of her

and tell her that she’s lucky to have someone

someone who listens to her and doesn’t ask

right away if she’s on her meds or when can

she get on her medication, when does the

health insurance kick in, has she been drinking,

is she on her period, has she seen her doctor lately?

I just want to tell her that when she grows up

no one who isn’t paid to, is going to listen to her

and her skin will ache when the wind touches it

because it will remind her of what she is,

 is exactly opposite of what she wants to be;

I just want to tell her that someday her home will

become a tomb that will protect her from living,

that someday she’ll be at the grocery store buying

cat food, boxed wine, pads and nothing will help,

the gray will lay on top of the gray and she will wish

she could curl up like a new born fern, before it’s ever

 introduced to the environment, held like a tight baby’s

fist, forming into itself;

I just want to tell her.

American Dream by Erika Hommel

So what is this I hear about Ms. Graves being back in the home sir?

Yea, she’s back.

And what is your definition of ‘back’?

Well, she’s stayin’ at her Daddy’s and our house.

How many days a week?

A couple.

A couple? What’s a couple?

A couple.

I see, and what are the conditions that she has to complete to stay in the home?

We’re talkin’ about it.

I see, well I just wanted to let you know that your son had to be removed from the class today, he wet himself several times, hit a child, started stemming again and biting his hand, he started random screaming again and generally seemed very anxious. Although I know he can’t speak for himself, I ask you to understand the impact.

Mr Graves?.

pitch by Erika Hommel

thephonehasnotrungfordays
sitting in a situation that offers
no condolences,
I have to wonder
was it all for pushing and pulling…

when guilt trips you,
it’s me with the skinned knees

paper plates and brains by Erika Hommel

I’ve had Dr. Paul’s number for two days,
two sweaty, pre-fall, pre-orgasmic days,
in Virginia, where the weather drops like flour in a down pour

that means a lot

where the rocks are a darker shade of gray
and the trees bleed black water into lime green lichen;

hovering across
the sloshed asphalt all I think about
is calling
made a go at the old girl
but she wouldn’t play
stitching grasped at each other’s thread bares
 her record skipped
rasping, pimpled concrete block
till you get it straight bitch
blood doesn’t just imply the truth
It demands It
too long at humanity, coinciding, like a sleep over
and you’ve been left out in the hallway
or a piece that might be detrimental to the development
of this fetus exercising her rights inside the wooden cap
commonly referred to as a skull,
not much
is connected these days
and often I can tell you
when the spinal cord flees
in different directions
and dissects the park
And all it’s unhappy occupants,
bubbles people,
bubbles,
there just aren’t enough-

And few enough have none, it will be the last lost cause if you don’t stop
stamped before an explanation of this

(Stop)

weak and willow, fall back, under cover and protected,
Let’s play pretend, never used, never touched,
Let’s be crystal

Let’s play clean-

Yes, let’s.

guilt trip by Erika Hommel

self imposed
I choose to wear
the claddagh
hands down
I’m yours

trying by Erika Hommel

it hurt so bad
my chest couldn’t wink,

all in all,

please hold your tongue
because of the
moving through the suicidal dials,
& angry, raised, cut tendons
I claim freedom
simply because there wasn’t much
to lean on,
but
                 
                     I see them look
at work,
at the 7-11
at parties,
                                        guilt does it’s job-
 and I want to explain
                                            it was
the cat,
                               the cat

drove me
to the hospital
oh you,

            depression monster,
a long term relationship, we know each other
too well, at least
that’s what the doc had me call him
but
I could over come,
I could-

over

come-

waste by Erika Hommel

It’s funny when you are the place keeper;

The spot where they wait
For
The
Next
Big
Thang,

because it strips you down to the thin skin
that really is you
quivering in daylight, echoing against a cloud
hovering absently in the blue, just for a moment,

and no one
ever gives a second thought
to it.

one sided by Erika Hommel

I thank the police for giving me a ticket,

the same way
I accept and acknowledge;

Our friendship.

suspect by Erika Hommel

it’s not stalking if he doesn’t know
we ate
separately,
and then we went to his house,
and she came over,
it was kind of awkward
but I was sitting in my car
reading the latest People

so

it wasn’t that awkward.

ant parade by Erika Hommel

I reached back
and grabbed his chunk of
a foot, gave it a little shake
he giggled and
I couldn’t stop crying
my brain is not able to
make enough to
enjoy that smile
so all plays on
and I am polite and smile,
I shake hands and make
people laugh, but my
house, the toys are strewn and we gravitate to one room, the clothes haven’t been washed and the clean ones cling to the guest room bed, I struggle back to back and in between the dusty bunnies, in between sticky wooden planks, if it’s possible to get my eye closer to the floor, weaved in wood, watching over the tiny city of bugs, diagonally carrying the groceries home and back to work, cranking tiny insect joints, inky black and oiled, pushing without a thought, without a care, until I don’t remember where I am.

transpose by Erika Hommel

Having traded the $250 a hour whore
to listen to my blood spattered, sputtering
that went at neck breaking pace,

it is now
at a dripping

please pace yourself,

consider the folly

that falters only those who might
dispute it to the death, but in my head,
you do not live and it’s a lucky finding
that it is,
because the music doesn’t die down
till a deep stoic breath is severed and the devil’s
whip is expunged
either that or
the pills kick in;

toss
to a chance
that these woods might heal these bones,
that the patience of silence
small giddy streams will rub in
nothing but slow passive thought,
void less temptations
is a breathless hope
smothered in gauze and covered
with the chocolate earth,
but potted lightly so,
in hope.

summertime by Erika Hommel

I am in love
with the lucent green
in waving breeze, crisp tree skin,
organically peeled back sky
to offer only beauty and nothing,
a wonderful void that doesn’t beckon
nor demand, but just exists in peace
yes,
I am in love.

no one, really

It is the same

It is (without contractions)

Always

Mention Major Depression

Or hospitals

Or medication

Then it’s the end of business time
Just

Like

That

they are gone
forever and ever
Like I casually mentioned that I might have two heads and an asshole on my elbow, or that pee comes from my mouth or that I need each and every fold bent at a 90 degree angle, only even numbered silverware or some put off demanding demand that transcends protocol, because I am larger than life and deserve nothing less…

But, well

No.

untitled

watching my son eat an apple

he eats it like an ape
bites the skin off and
expels it off his tongue
with one long uck,
then chews the fat meat of the gala
with large noises
and long juices

Can't wait

it's probably a fault
but I've never seen it since
quite look that way
once I've built a response
I'll wait, o, I'll wait
in the tall waving grass
spiraling when the cars go by
but when I stand up
and your not there-
well, don't expect me
to not turn around
and go
home

non-negotiable

there's something in

a failed attempt that can

eat away at you

like the expecting luminous

hallway light,

a commencement of

another life,

before you were born

it even smells new

and makes your stomach

turn with possibilities,

but now that's gone

and your skin doesn't seem

to gleam the way it did,

in the mornings it is porous

and soggy from trying to

drink the morning closer,

colors have lost their harbor

and set a drift to someone

else's life, where concrete

is just a wall that

they can climb.