Is This Going Somewhere?


Discovering his cruelty was akin
to standing on the backyard deck
ready to jump into spring grass,
soft with newness and finding instead,
coiled, the venomous blunt head of a rattle snake,
lying in wait, ready to strike out
at whatever comes within its range
of pride or insanity. She couldn’t help
notice his appeal though.
The diamond back so lush against the green. His beauty beyond report.

The snake would say she is
getting the narrative all wrong.
He may slither, but she’s the
one with the come hither,
charming him right out of his basket
with her deceptively sweet song of the sea. The snake hisses. He knows
she’s rose petals on top of bees.
She only knows how to sting.

The truth shaking its virtuous head,
give its point of view. Scolding them both.
We pick up the story from here.
Truth let’s us know that these two
are a perfect storm of toxic.
Their common language, madness.
Individually, they are both soft spoken
and kind. Subdued and well liked.
On paper, a good idea. Together, the paper turns
to a dartboard
both aimlessly trying to
out dart the other.
Years of grievances flying through
the air.

She might have been the
mouse chewed up and devoured
by his devilish mouth, or
perhaps he was the
victim of a demented siren song.

It all depends on point of view.

Gorgeous stars or bastard moon?
The truth is the light in their room.
It never changes.
Yet, they both sleep with blindfolds on
and what they don’t want to look at blurs,
in the descent of memories.
Memories best left discarded.
The bridge burnt. Falling into water
spilled with oil.
The snake and siren drown.
The undertow winks at truth.

Truth tired of the story
and with no magic potion.
Delivers an elegy to two
sweet tooth addicted to madness-
Relieved to be done
with these loons. Truth ends
the narrative here.


The ghost of the snake chimes in
with but…but..but..
The phantom siren sings…..
and …and…and..

-Tosha Michelle


Solvent for Gray Matter?


I’m always listening for some

distance call-from whom, or

what I can’t say. Maybe it’s

something that resides inside

me, a parasite of endless yearning

This restless, relentless

longing, trying to form a

melody. Rooted in loneliness,

trying to find the chords of

love. Perhaps, it’s grief, regret,

the futile quest for perfection.

The fear of my own mind and

heart. The knots of my emotions

tangled. All I can do is listen. I

try to decipher the notes.

The ego always tagging along.

Desperate for something I

can’t define. Sitting in the

stillness. I try to name a

tune that never quieten. I

hear it all day and in the

darkness. It goes on.

The insistent lyrical I,

the perplexed me.

and a song, I can’t begin

to learn.

-Tosha Michelle