Being young, 21, is everything
For wisdom does not come with age
Only tired bones and fade
And maturity means accustomed to
The crumbling of a once great temple, you
Invisible now, featureless, faceless
That’s the rub of the wrinkly skinned
Who live in seaside towns, with mothballs twinned
And all this whilst the beautiful people
Run like gazelles, screw like rabbits, have such delicious fun
God, it’s just not fair, though once I was there
In the class of being young, 21
Being young, 21, is everything
the hardest thing
about this memory is
how it keeps coming back
to me, still
holding warmth like peach tea
left out in midday sun like
the midday sun that came
across the canal white rose petals
across the ruffled surface
released by hesitant hands and
shivering.Read more "Venice"
Ocean City I’m on a fifth-storyhotel balconyat the crack of dawn staring past a row of rental propertiestoward vast waters beyond, as I wonderwhat ghosts lieon the hungover streets below. What sort of jukebox jiveor inebriated highdid that last breeze carry through? It’s a mid-summer den,a damn hotbed,of debauchery and sin on this morning after […]Read more "Ocean City"
No More Flat Screens! Bring back the cathode-ray tubeto bedazzle us anewwith blizzards of orphaned electronspelting helter-skelteragainst the hard opaque backsideof awareness. And no more programming either!No more ambient laughterwhile wedding guests keen for their sinsand heroes go questing for the road less devouredand sidekicks turn toxic with spiteand speeding shibboleths slam into each otherand […]Read more "No More Flat Screens!"
Night, Cyan Young woman, come and sit with us ghosts of wisdom on the veranda under the shelter of a night sky that is cyan and purple in color. Forget the shadows of his arms Instead feel the darkness of a summer night as crickets in their chorus begin to share with you all the […]Read more "Night, Cyan"
Your friends are not your friends Your friends are not your friends. There is no such thing as a friend. The wasp devours the honeybee on his dutiful search For the final flower. The flower stagnates, smelling sweet for no one. If it’s true that you kill the things you love Then she loved me […]Read more "Your friends are not your friends"
Husband: All Earth I. Led Zeppelin on Spotify, movie posters on walls, Coors Light and Old Spice, here she dove softly into cool dust. At home, it was canyons and dirt, long showers after boring sex. Her husband: all earth. Here, they were all bodies, purple Gatorade, no sleep. II. Third Eye Blind on Spotify, […]Read more "Husband: All Earth"
As You Are You think yourself slick you with your curvature you with your shrubbery the metallic taste of your possibilities the concrete resonance of your surroundings distilled to your very essence the things you taste the things you hear and smell and swallow the crispness of your purity your bleached essence the machine of […]Read more "As You Are"
Below is Part 9 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 8: Holding Patterns: Dowries Lateral dots et alia, I ditch anterior peruke, reconfigure dorsal ballast, and streamline for cultural pursuits as sleuth Dot Motley, Esq. Suited in dated sharkskin, I minimize drag and launch forward in full […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Deep Nectar: Rendezvous"
Valarie Smith studied English, Creative Writing and Journalism at NYU before moving to Portland, OR, where she’s worked in corporate communications for many years. In between, she was a subway courier, a literary agency assistant and the manager of the personal ads at an alternative newspaper (and yes, she could tell you some stories). Getting […]Read more "Getting Played"