Kate at 3:14

you know how it works

it happens on
every anniversary
of the day they died

the anniversary of when your insides were torn from their bones and your hatred for God brought blood to your temples and your screams were heard from across the bay and everyone told you that time would heal and you told them all, all, to fuck the fuck off

every anniversary, you cry new tears and your heart is pressed, pressed, pressed again

i know how it works

every anniversary
every morning
every 3:14am
every torturous sleepless
morning

the time

i saw

i saw you close your eyes

i saw you close your eyes and y y your your head

your head in my bloody hands my hands i couldn’t stop the b b bleeding i’m sorry i’m still so s sorry my love i’m sorry i couldn’t stop i can’t stop it Kate stay with me Kate Kate stay Kate i can’t Kate stop it o Kate stay Kate Kate they’e coming Kate stay with me Kate Kate stay Kate Kate K
ate Kaastay wiKate Kanoo no KateKateKate no nononoKate K K K K   K        K                  K
K

o,

this room has never been darker
slumped and foetal
i tremble out
my first tears

my bones ache
with my heart

o,

my wailing
heart

it has ended
it has ended
fuckno!fuckno!fucknofuckno!fuckno!

it has ended

and
my world’s lights
are burnt
out
forever

Mr Peterson

As Mr Peterson’s psychologist for the past twelve years, I’ve seen the best and the worst of him. I could write a book about him, and I still may when the time is right, but I certainly wouldn’t consider it until after the trial. He considers himself as a likable character, and I’d simply say that he could be. He makes friends, close friends, quite effortlessly and is very generous with his affection. Of course, he loses these friendships as quickly as he makes them, usually as a result of an unwarranted violent episode.  One such example is that of a man he used meet in a bar to talk about politics. They became great friends in a short period of time, but he assaulted him with a pool cue after a simple misunderstanding. As is most often the case, the man never pressed charges. Of course, any psychologist worth his salt could tell you that his illness stems from his uncle’s molestation of him as a child, but it’s how this culminated in his father’s murder that will take me to the stand tomorrow. As thick as the file marked “Charles Barlow Peterson” is, I still don’t know how I’ll testify. I don’t know if I’ll condemn my patient, or save my friend. It might depend on how he looks me in the eye.

puppeteer

(open quote)(capital w)hat is literative art(question mark)(close quote) the (capital k)ing asked his puppeteer(stop)

(capital t)he puppeteer replied with a laureate grin(comma)(open quote)(capital i)t(apostrophe)s all about the structure of language(comma) where you place your commas(comma) and how this can manipulate the reader(stop) (capital y)ou want them to wonder what meaning your words might have(comma) when in fact the words mean

(return)

(return)

(return)

at all(stop)(close quote)

portrait

when i look out my bedroom window, i see the dullest of green mountains framed by the shadiest grey of blue sky and lake. it’s a pathetic portrait to paint, of what i know to be

beautiful,
so i look closer

and i see the red brick, and
the tv tower, and
the tomato garden, and
the satellite dish, and
the hanging smog, and
the dying palm, and
i realise

that i was right in the first place, it’s a pathetic portrait to paint. i should find something new, to live and be a-live.