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Separation

 
sad-ghost
 
I write with your pen

–curving my palm

–your art leaving its nib

–your dreams filling my head

–your pain curdling my heart…
 
 
 
My body rises with his coffee

charging beginnings–

his work ethic

–impelling me forward

his glasses

–bridging my nose

his passion

–igniting my soul…
 
 
My mind

is his
 
 
–remembering her.

Yearning for her,

tasting her cravings

a snack mix)

hearing her music

static

promising her compromise

*an oversight*

wanting her caress

to soothe

listening to her heel Taps

–dopplering away→

–and I rite→

I right.

©Karen Robiscoe

One Hand Clapping

juggler

I am the It girl

in my reality

‘Walking red carpet

stained by infinite, launched tomatoes

(elbow-elbow, wrist-wrist-wrist)

in a vacuum

& vacuum-free,

the pile isn’t my problem

“booked’

as I am

time and again

and you know,

again

for stages in rooms

Standing Room Only

Grand

(i-ose)

constructs of the mind

wherein I retain utter creative control

–director, star & critic

I also pitch tomatoes.

©Karen Robiscoe

Oz Born

balloon
 
wireless wizard

Clicks

ruby red cursors

3x.
 
 

Beginning, middle, end.

The left

–2x.

And right for once…

Believing

the force

was

inside

her all along

she runs shell games

forgetting Kansas…

second-site

revealing there never was

a place like home…

©Karen Robiscoe

Where Faux Art’s Art

masterpiece
 
The line

between the

Arts

& the
 
 

Are you kidding me’s

is blurred.

By spell check

& plastic checkout…

By dual lines

& paraphrase…

By light board

& bored-dumb

inCessantly rubbed out

by puppies

in Microsoft Office Pools

leasing Adobe brick buildings

with filtered light.

©Karen Robiscoe

Mud Gets in Your Eyes

disco_ball_red
 
She was poured

out of her skull,

&

–over rocks
 
 
Beached Sex

and I was a Hatted Man

.neat.

a double-tall drink of whiskey

sweet as cherry

~stirrup~

and ours was a toast to remember

hear! hear!

an electric Tee

that wobbled disco balls for light years.

 

©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: star X romance

Motel ∞

colleseum
 
He was her emotional

whore

a crutch

that fixes
 
 
 
 
the worst kept

(impeccable dream)

Quickie

to a•Muse

for a rhyme

as she—he

but her tricks

>while heady<

left her

crumpled as

towels long thrown

tacky, too

like neOn

arrowing eXits

from an

eLephant show

pink, grey,

in house & out

but stage struck by grieF

a hard act to follow with credible bravado,

Hotel California…

*pOOf*

caned her, but collected her,

like those little shampoos

and soaps you never use–

curtain-calling the lather of a

1 man show.

©Karen Robiscoe