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Cherilyn Ferroggiaro

Corvus Jazz Peeler Was His Name:

Words, words, impacting my small world

with their irony, their truth-

somehow the day is crispy around the edge
like burnt toast, not sure what it means,
just a sense I got.

Worrying about insignificant things
I shouldn't even allow
to occupy brainwave space,

my own rediscovery of sorts,
expelling bad air, gaze diversion.

Got to replant my feet, stand anew
different soil, same heart and soul
intoxicated by you, my mentor,
my father, my friend.

Talking in circles, mysteries, find me
if you can, unlock my heartbeat,
entwined with words, words.

Need to climb back up there
where I was, up onto your knee,
need to make it
right again, make it safe.

The Consequences of a Night Out:

I stretch towards desert highways,

a hardship built to suit.

The whites of his eyes finger my curves,

   my worth.

The stench fills my lungs

and I fall into silence for clarity-

I can feel the winds turn, the round of my nipples

Become enlarged,

I strike a match and all that mattered-is not.

He asks my name; my lips curl in modesty

And I look away.

They say 'never try to forget

what you are destined to remember'…

I never was one for bottlenecks and substitution.

A lonely guitar peels away in the aftermath

As I brush off advances with gasoline.

There are no mirages here in Nevada,

The sun scorches his memory,

  His wintered hands.

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