relentless beauty,
color like a warm hand

or a cool voice upon me, asking for peace,
my being a razor against it.

all the girls dolled up and somber,
holding lips and shoulders stoic for photographs

with all that softness behind them.
it's about contrast, i suppose,

or completing the landscape
or maybe it's just that everyone loves a pretty girl

when she's sad
and spring is happening to her

A Vague Memory

Courtney,
you were always beautiful
in yer cocaine haze.
I remember the night we spent
together trading beers
and telling stories
or explaining theories.
I don't even remember
how we ended up there.

You were always so tough
emancipated and on yer own
at the age of sixteen.
And I was always in awe
because you floated on air
even with those
monkeys on yer back,
weighing you down.

Courtney,
where did you run to?
And do you remember that night
we spent laying,
playing in yer hair?

The moon sat on the surface of the water like a weighted bobber, and she leaned across and kissed me to let me know the end was near. I shuddered like a question, believing that this was a just another pair of loaded dice. I could not find it in my heart to pour my self into the pot, to become a member of the new world order, a soothsayer. I declined her second attempt for a kiss, and the moon became stale.

The Beach

the blue was blazing

on the waves as they

crashed against the shore and

you hid yourself

in my chest as

you tried to light a cigarette;

unable to

get the flame

to catch the paper

in the high wind.

your mother had warned you

of the rip currents;

of all the dangers;

of that blazing

blue ocean.

and we could hear

the violence of the sea

as the white foam

crashed toward us now.

still,

we found small tide pools

filled with artifacts that

the ocean had brought here,

to the beach.

you picked up

a large sand dollar and,

brushing it off,

presented it as a gift

for my son

we continued down the beach,

your hand in mine,

uncovering

more artifacts

and unsaid words

buried beneath the sand:

my sadness

in leaving the

very next day;

an ex-boyfriend

you'd been talking to...

you brushed this off as well,

presenting it as

something harmless.

I accepted it

and that is where

the sea comes

to swallow me.

'cause when I look into your eyes

I see the ocean;

the possibilities;

the future

and I'm just fine

wading into the water,

with you, love,

on a moonless night.

Visiting the Dream

If we stop and take a look at this

maybe it's full of holes

maybe we're sinking it

or running it ashore

but I can't shake

that image of you

entwined in sheets

and smiling

as I lean down to kiss you

before hopping into the shower

and every couple months

we get a few days

to pretend that it is real life

to pretend that the dream is over

we hang up our phones

to hang up our clothes

side by side

and it feels alright.

it's a fatal habit
blaming things on winds

Poetry Read at the Brighton Bar, Wednesday, April 29th. That should be easy to remember, because 2 x 9 = 18, and there are 18 letters in "Brighton Poetry Read", so you got no excuse for not showing up

his class shrouds him
enough pretty drinks in enough dark rooms
would stop him

a madman's wild haired head
beneath cool water
holding its breath

his whole hope heaped onto a single nail
by an imaginary girl who, once realized,
would pound the world cleanly into place

there would be no need for unveilings

It happens

You know they got there after you and left before you

eight knots on a string, then four,
then two, then a ring,

beneath it, Maria,
a big black earth to every side of her

The buddy system

Right now the world is spinning around at mind numbing speed, and i'm here in this park holding on for dear life. Hold on with me now.

he doesn’t speak the truth so much as
truth passes through him,

water through paper
scrawled with reminders

the ink loosens and pools,
tremulous lines, like scars,

a roadmap
to further truths

and other scars

See?

I've been driving around in a brand new car that i stole the other day. When i push on the gas, it makes me feel high. I suppose the least i can do is find a way to die romanticcally with her, so we never become old friends.

sweet mardou
jack's sweet and brown footed
mardou

and every girl i ever saw
out on a damp car hood

and all the sunrises bittersweet

and the way
the sea is eternity
rolling up
to california
and new york

exgirl's ex

she was lonely freedom falling
leaning on that metal handrail
the winds fingers
grasping at the hope of her hair
always bandana'd
in tight pants
and a desperate hollow sadness
between drags
the words mixed with tequila
(but the tequila never mixed with
the sprite in the glass
only in her stomach)
about graffiti as the big art
and the size of a bigger canvas
and creation

she had gone down
on more girls
that i had wanted to
then i had

the sky is alive tonight

with energy

lightning roars and

thunder claps

it's hurt

it's angry

it's spitting pissed

but it's lonely and sad

and that's why it rains

sometimes it comes

in torrents

scratching mad

against my window

other times there's calm and

you can hear the crickets

singing softly

somewhere

and that's where I find sleep

someone can stop this

You're my new cue, my new spark of madness, a rabbit with the best of intentions, and a belly of worms. You're my new spring, to end my winter woes with the madness and fury of change. Fire burns like you to try to look good, but this is consuming me more like a disease. you are inspiring. you are THAT SCENT. I'll never get it off.

Don't bother

Sometimes people get all nobodied out, but i found that the things we use to do are even less. Sure, you can get upset, it's fine, but you won't like it. It'll make me uncomfortable, which will make me want to leave. And then you can't be seen. That's when you'll find somebody, with haste!

Try harder

I, crustacean, in my shell, watching families of tortoise go past. They offer me protection. They give me light where i had none.

Headphone drama

You lack definition. You are void of inflection. Even in your happiest state, you shock me and the anticipation of your contents terrify me. I haven't known what anyone has actually tried to say to me in 5 years. Convenient. Like a tool.

untitled

the zephyr was certainly titillating
better than any lovers' hands have been
was considerably more charming, even
i'll just take it on a date, instead

the people cling onto their coats as
they walk on by
windy spring day
sitting on the park bench,
the wind blows her thick hair
into her eyes
obscuring her view of the photograph
in her hands
the only left over evidence
and the wind gently
pushes away all the clouds,
blowing the picture
out of her hands
finally she is free

heroin addicts
lie
more than
other addicts
to help
ease you
just slightly
from the hard
world
they wave
goodbye
to

"can u write words for me"
he asked
all heroin
"cuz i been workin on somethin"

and the reggae chords
became neil young
and the damage done

as his boy ran and yelled
in union square

it was all sad
and human
johnny
with stumblin drunks
darin not to see
the horizon

and i loved
yr empty eyes
and songs

g'by purple, g'by girl, g'by time

that girl with purple
in her hair
read TIME magazine
on the 4 train
bound for uptown

captured me
in momentariness

in the flicker of subway
movement
i can see
the impermanence
of things

Short Fiction / Special Edition Idiom

As some of you may already know, I will be working on a possible special edition idiom to come out once a year (most likely the summertime).  I would really like to see everyone that posts on W.E. write and submit for this (especially people that don't normally write prose. Get outta yer comfort zone). Submissions will be open but for now it will only be advertised by word of mouth...and for anyone that doesn't post here but may be following us, I suppose.

Now, onto submission guidelines:

This is for short fiction/prose. No poitry.

Please limit submissions to no more than 700 words (target for just about 600).

Include a Title, so we know what to call it.

Include the name you want to be published under, so we know what to call you.

Submissions may be about any subject matter. In the future, we may look into themed issues or something of the sort, but for now it's your discretion.

Send all submissions to: idiomfiction@yahoo.com

Submissions deadline: July 17, 2009.

Thanks all,

Joe McCall