“Pentimento”
i will lose sixty pounds and dissect
second marriages their chalk outlines have even less of a chance
because the pilled eraser hasn’t been perfected yet but imagine
the only accomplishment being pronunciation and not forgetting
how mice cross the snow in front of the headlights
and maybe it’s too soon to live a life over a sketch
color with paint the part you like and graphite’s weak
anyway but how the oil bleeds through and spreads
to the walls of sugar licked to lace by black toothed ghosts hoping
to crumble the earth pushing upward floating on the sky
below its too pretty for words feel fucked and you’ve never been that hungry
child you can despise me and call it what you will
there’s no change but you’ve learned some new words
maybe meaning will come later maybe she’s left you
maybe she’s left you behind
maybe she left you because you never woke to her crying
what i know for sure is she looks different to everyone
sun sunked eyes describing how you’re going to die
how you’ll go because she feeds the inventor and feeds
it to the inventor and her understudy spiking the ink jars and sneezing
in her sleep poor thing never sleeps and she doesn’t want her
to die she just wants to be able to sit on the couch without rolling
to the middle here’s the thing though the whole damn thing
he made it up
the bastard made it all up
all of life is an impossibility
except for that one thing
i haven’t found yet and truthfully
i’m not sure there’s any way you could
convince me that i’m actually here
“Breatharian”
because I don’t need you to touch me to fill me up to hold me down
I can live on sunshine but not even sunshine – knives of light pinging off rearview mirrors
through sky-scraped shadows
I can live on my own hiccups and helicopter sounds
don’t water me and save your icing your mashed potatoes your sugar cane for someone you
could love who could lick your plate clean
there’s too much meat on these here bones too much to maintain and my name just makes your
mouth dry whether you look my way or not
the prairies to my west have never known the feeling of water scars have never been worn
by waters pulling together
I haven’t enough tears to share and in their trembling
the willows continue
to embarrass themselves
“Eye Patch Girl”
Poor little one
Whose shame from her
Flesh colored bandage
Under seafoam and clear glasses
Caused her to cry those salty tears
fighting the adhesive
so the plastic scale kept sliding down her cheek
exposing an eye that just wanted to see
what everyone was laughing at
ellis jake solie is an artist and a writer who is constantly in search of simplicity.They teach fine art at the University of Wisconsin Green Bay. Their work has been featured in Allegory Ridge, FSM, River+Bay, and Fox Cities Magazine. They believe good art has light breaking through the seams and sparks an honest conversation.
