That was the summer the fireflies invaded our lives, talking in a secret language that only they understood. Puddles of footsteps reigned in the street. Boys wet with rain, drenched with the sharp smell of gasoline and dreams piled on the corner of the street shooting marbles.
With summer came the expectation of change. Girls arrayed in delicate dresses paraded in our street, going nowhere in particular. They were simply testing the fit of their new virtue.
There were secrets too that died in the sealed lips of the culprits framed inside the black and white photograph that sat on the table in my living room.
A jigsaw puzzle bitten to pieces caused my room to ignite. Before going to bed, I would gaze at the exquisite night sky and watch as thousands of tiny dark spots formed in the shape of a woman sitting on the moon. Wide awake with the suspicion that things would always be too big for me to grasp. I found my sadness that night. Whenever I tried to speak, untrained syllables flapped like a dead fish in my mouth.
The fireflies left the following week. One kid in my neighborhood spotted them going East. We hadn’t packed our bags yet, hadn’t bought our tickets. Their betrayal left a fire inside of my belly that burned a hole on the map of my childhood.
We still played in the vacant parking lots, in our plain clothes. Without the possibilities of getting out, we embraced our new freedom and the wilderness of our local colors; we exchanged heartaches with just one glance. The kaleidoscope of sounds we uttered which sounded foreign to an untrained ear became our advantage.
He first saw the flyer on the pavement on the train station just as he was about to board the train. It was a strewn piece of paper that kept following him, given that it got stuck...
It was the first week of September,
we mapped our childhood by the sunburns
that peeled off of our skin.
A pair of Dr Martens & tattered jeans
anointed the cool kids.
While we sat...
dressed in white,
my beautiful warrior child,
enchant me with your April dance.
My heart is dark and heavy
with sullen things.
May I request for you to sing
The ink from his fingernails stained her dress,
warning her that one day their story will end.
But she could not stay away,
she could not catch her breath,
though the funeral march...
Jim Puffyblooms was a former seafarer, a now vagabond, semi bona fide petty thief; an everyday collector of found things others might call trash, but a little tweak here and there,...
The Magician’s box arrived at precisely 10 a.m. The UPS guys, didn’t even blink twice when you signed for it. Then together we struggled to drag that thing into your garage. Your...
You walk like a wounded cliché
an unprecedented comma
separates you from the others.
You’re in love with the games
that you play in your mind.
In your head you play these scenes
This is how it happened.
Yesterday on my way to work.
I stepped on a dead toad….
Your face came/ in a flash
An electric shock/ of sorts…
Buckley, I will never hear
together they pipe the symphony
of broken dreams.
Desires expressed in solitude
become tomes & zeppelins
in our mind's play.
& those hopes...
Peter packed his photographs post permission from persnickity Albert- the fabulous, pontificating, palaverous, bossman. Peter was pleasantly surprised with the precipitous reaction...