ukemi
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ukemi
When the favored horse finally falls,
it suffocates instantly under the weight
of its ridiculous white teeth,
gross bouffant,
and bauble nails,
while the gelding next door,
four winters starved,
keeps darling Death
a dust cloud always,
one long cough away.
what are you anyway?
a peduncle?
a part-time love?
a bridge, and a nose to suck?
I would know you better all wrapped up in linen.
Laid out under Tuesday’s lantern
you are a shadow and a field hand’s task –
to till and to plow at until death do us part.
the poorly planned party
ding dong!
The donkey brays. Impossible!
He is drugged and newly mute.
The fae-folk stole away with his voice, only hours ago.
It is a favored aperitif for tonight’s bridegroom,
the moon’s young plaything.
The mistress of the house bid the frog
to quack on the hour.
It is a fantastic entertainment.
On the stove her plot is simmering,
though it never thickens.
ding dong!
It is Silence at the threshold in a three-piece suit.
Where are his manners?
He chews loudly and languorously as
the widow’s silver head hangs low.
Subtly, she tries to catch the moon on her breast.
He doesn’t look left once, nor right.
Not for all the diamonds in her mouth.
How hard she tries to slow the squelching of her heart
to beat in time with his.
ding dong!
the wedding bell.
the death knell.
Memories of a streetwise, black-now-gray cat:
“Fishwives spilled
guts
as they sat
at the
Aphrodite Laundromat.
Lukewarm Lies and
secret Shames
became
watermark stains
at the
Aphrodite Laundromat.
Darned demons sat in seams
to dry, and factory machines
learned to cry, when people
shouldn’t
or couldn’t –
they would rely
on the
Aphrodite Laundromat.
A cold cycle
forgot many a glance,
when recompense
made little sense,
for just one Dollar and
Fifty Cents
at the
Aphrodite Laundromat.”
feathers and their functions
Human, kindly, explain
why is it that each life is needing
to be more precious than the last?
You’re just a burden and a purpose
in burlap skin.
Consider yourself buried,
and bored.
Success is making a dearly beloved
bad joke.
It is some proud, dead dog’s still-buried bone
and solutions to non-existent problems:
Extra Extra Large Pixy Stix
A twenty-four-hour amusement park
Flip flops.
The ticket, my human friend,
is taking one giant leap backwards
into Earth’s ugly open-mouthed smile,
and playing the fool.
When the favored horse finally falls,
it suffocates instantly under the weight
of its ridiculous white teeth,
gross bouffant,
and bauble nails,
while the gelding next door,
four winters starved,
keeps darling Death
a dust cloud always,
one long cough away.
what are you anyway?
a peduncle?
a part-time love?
a bridge, and a nose to suck?
I would know you better all wrapped up in linen.
Laid out under Tuesday’s lantern
you are a shadow and a field hand’s task –
to till and to plow at until death do us part.
the poorly planned party
ding dong!
The donkey brays. Impossible!
He is drugged and newly mute.
The fae-folk stole away with his voice, only hours ago.
It is a favored aperitif for tonight’s bridegroom,
the moon’s young plaything.
The mistress of the house bid the frog
to quack on the hour.
It is a fantastic entertainment.
On the stove her plot is simmering,
though it never thickens.
ding dong!
It is Silence at the threshold in a three-piece suit.
Where are his manners?
He chews loudly and languorously as
the widow’s silver head hangs low.
Subtly, she tries to catch the moon on her breast.
He doesn’t look left once, nor right.
Not for all the diamonds in her mouth.
How hard she tries to slow the squelching of her heart
to beat in time with his.
ding dong!
the wedding bell.
the death knell.
Memories of a streetwise, black-now-gray cat:
“Fishwives spilled
guts
as they sat
at the
Aphrodite Laundromat.
Lukewarm Lies and
secret Shames
became
watermark stains
at the
Aphrodite Laundromat.
Darned demons sat in seams
to dry, and factory machines
learned to cry, when people
shouldn’t
or couldn’t –
they would rely
on the
Aphrodite Laundromat.
A cold cycle
forgot many a glance,
when recompense
made little sense,
for just one Dollar and
Fifty Cents
at the
Aphrodite Laundromat.”
feathers and their functions
Human, kindly, explain
why is it that each life is needing
to be more precious than the last?
You’re just a burden and a purpose
in burlap skin.
Consider yourself buried,
and bored.
Success is making a dearly beloved
bad joke.
It is some proud, dead dog’s still-buried bone
and solutions to non-existent problems:
Extra Extra Large Pixy Stix
A twenty-four-hour amusement park
Flip flops.
The ticket, my human friend,
is taking one giant leap backwards
into Earth’s ugly open-mouthed smile,
and playing the fool.
Nicole Vento is a New York City based writer, visual artist, and dog trainer who bides her time creating worlds out of anything she can her hands on. You can follow her work at @nicoleventoart.