type slowly.

one year, two year, red year, new year

Posted in Uncategorized by Lara Crombie on December 31, 2009

Choices

Nikki Giovanni

If i can’t do
what i want to do
then my job is to not
do what i don’t want
to do

It’s not the same thing
but it’s the best i can
do

If i can’t have
what i want . . . then
my job is to want
what i’ve got
and be satisfied
that at least there
is something more to want

Since i can’t go
where i need
to go . . . then i must . . . go
where the signs point
through always understanding
parallel movement
isn’t lateral

When i can’t express
what i really feel
i practice feeling
what i can express
and none of it is equal

I know
but that’s why mankind
alone among the animals
learns to cry

Thank you for being my soundtrack.

Posted in Uncategorized by Lara Crombie on December 30, 2009

lost boys.

Posted in words by Lara Crombie on December 29, 2009

Rabbit dash, behind you. My lame heel and flesh on flesh. The excuse is brilliant, I want to go home.

Until dumb luck, we wash, rinse and repeat. Fairy godmothers avoid the stench of age, ours stopped believing.

That’s you and me. Fat containers, cold cuts, an extra charge for shipping and handling.

The French say qui vivra verra. I wrote stories hung from rafters. Ends, as loose knots, suggest temperance. Truncated.

Forgive the process. We fingered winter hatchets, in plural: “he chops wood for fire” while she finishes two thoughts…

Waking up. Or, growing down.

Meet your meat.

Posted in curiosities by Lara Crombie on December 22, 2009

split infinitives.

Posted in words by Lara Crombie on December 22, 2009

An iceberg found Australia. Thank God I met you. Twelve hours later,

we call truce.

Random act of kindness: smile for children. Free verse in ramen soup, half-price diets, and

a greeting card that says I love the way you smell after work.

In a box holding kittens, under soft layer, facile, mother. She’s rotisserie

she rotates, she blesses dinner and understands how not why.

Twice, scissors cuts paper. We choose to be afraid. Last line,

is hope.

bone soup.

Posted in words by Lara Crombie on December 12, 2009

You’ve left Dorothy in chiffon and beaten. Last year the magazines extended your subscription for being a valued customer. Daily vitamins are stored in moisture resistant canisters and sweaters are packed with mothballs. You’ve eaten in your closet with the sweaters. Sandwiches, alone, and a nursery rhyme about pretty maids in a row. They say “bone soup.” There’s an Asian root shaped like a heart. Tragic stories lack bathroom scenes. You say fucking feels alliterative, Tetris blocks falling at increasing speed. You’ve held babies and lost orgasms. Faith, blanched. TV’s on. The ocean never looked bigger.

Posted in words by Lara Crombie on December 11, 2009

a mini rhyme!

Curiosity killed my buzz

pornography stunned my libido

the insides look like outsides and

my haystack’s short a needle.

on empty stomach.

Posted in words by Lara Crombie on December 11, 2009

First love is like last love and never lasts save for a dull step in a series of beats that reminds us of the heart and its serious methodical way, the way it performs in arenas where the audience is comprised of hands (that hold hands to occupy hands since they don’t care for pockets) and legs (that bend to please) and eyes (that watch while) mouths shout “encore!” even as the curtain falls; last love humors insight as we search for meaning in oatmeal but add sugar before the taste settles.

ADDENDUM: this is kind of lame. i’m self-imposing a one glass limit on weeknight wine. might revise, might not. i’ll let the “taste settle” (is it douchey to reference your own writing within your writing?).

ciao, bella.

Posted in reviews by Lara Crombie on December 2, 2009

Trying to find quality music in today’s market is similar to trying to find real food at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Bella Ruse album review at Weheartmusic.

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