fifty-two sparks

2011-09-24T13:57:00.000-07:00

i will eventually poetry do you remember that awful joke about stabbing the cat that made you look like you were jerking off how i tried to get you to go through the motions on camera where we worked it was a stupid joke you should've quit talking to me right then eight years down the road we still converse but the words are less meaningful than before small things like grammar corrections

My feelings at the moment.

2011-09-07T11:28:00.000-07:00

four stanzas on a double edged sword poetry spewed forth from somewhere with rotted leaves and knobby branch deep within the padded walls inside my chest boiled and frothed around my larynx shoved through veins pumped to each extremity til it could be contained no more from between two lips they flew up into the sky tangled up in each other's vowels impenetrable from either side i watched

from the archives

2011-09-01T19:14:00.000-07:00

Since moving home, I've run across quite a bit of old poetry. Mostly just bits and pieces, nothing quite complete. I found this one in an old notebook. I think I like it better unfinished. [no title] poetry i say i want to fall in love before the next snow falls and i will i believe it because it's Arkansas where it rarely snows but who knows the past few years have been

free writing

2011-06-01T00:23:00.000-07:00

my writing is terrible these days. i'm so out of practice. i only write when i'm pissed. so. here's some free writing. [no title]poetryi cannot say it loud enoughno metaphor could fully expressmy disgustgo awaygo awaygo away go awaywe were only people putting up with each otherto silence the guilt of the grey areasbut they don't teach you about grey-area-of-consent cultureand they don't tell you

procrastination makes for updates

2011-04-14T13:08:00.000-07:00

I can't decide if I want to continue this blog or just set up a website for my various creations. Hmm. ---enthusiast poetryi collected themput their pictures on displayfor the world to seemy hobby is who i amso i wasn't shy aboutletting others know about themthey must have developed legs, some one saidlate in the night as i showedher the bare walls of my apartmentthe lights were reluctant toshow

2011-04-04T22:33:00.001-07:00

the chaotic thoughts of a sixteen year old drop outpoetrydon't judge me because i'm scaredyou see i just can'tseem to trust anyonefully anymoremy arms are bars to keep you at baystrong enough topush the walls fromtheir foundation andtoss them upand awaynever hurt againno i willnever hurt againeven if being sodisconnected endsmy life i willneverhurt again

new stuff! :O

2011-03-11T12:59:00.000-08:00

Hey guys. What's up. How's life, work, the weather, gas prices are crazy huh I KNOW RIGHT? Anyway, now that we got all that small talk out of the way, here is some random poetry I wrote after my afternoon shower. I wanted to go further, but I became intensely worried that I would ruin the imagery by saying something completely retarded. Ironically enough, sometimes I feel like everything I say is

pomez

2011-02-22T21:43:00.000-08:00

I don't know, man. ------------you knowi'm really fucking tiredand i'm onlyalmost twenty fiveyears elderthe universe hasyet to openor show me anythingworth living forexcept for thehope that somedaysomeone will fuck me more than once

poems make me live.

2010-12-23T22:47:00.000-08:00

[untitled as of press time]poetryI AIN'T A LEADERshe saidhands like grenadesred sparks flying from her earsshe stomped around the picket lineswith busted kneesFOR HUNDREDS OF YEARSsounds like a lecture's startor a passionate speech I'm not sureI ask her what for and shejust stares at my ignoranceSOMETHING'S GOTTA CHANGEthe wind picks upblows her skirt across the scabsand up around her waistarms

Hey, here's some new shit.

2010-12-17T23:23:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in a while. I also just flew to Albuquerque, NM. Here's what I wrote during the first leg of the trip. It's extremely rough. I apologize for the tense fuck-ups and the usage of second-person. you were in the air (tentative title)fictionIt’s a strange feeling. First it feels like a school bus, every little bump a mountain. It’s okay, though. It’s a rickety ride that you’re used to

argh.

2010-09-27T20:01:00.000-07:00

not overpoetryten seconds in and i realize that it isn't over yetit stops dead in its tracks, caughtstares me dead in the eyeswe are motionlessi fake a start at him, but he doesn't jumpleans deep, haunchesmenacing and dark he attackslike a field mouse i am consumedin a swipe and a swallowi am no morei am consummate miserywe used to be such good friends

2010-08-27T23:35:00.001-07:00

if there was a godpoetryif there was a godi'm pretty sure he sent mea graduation gift a fewmonths early with a bow andeverythingand said hereyou've been so faithfulbeing young and faithful ishard to dotake thisi was a stupid childi left that box to sit no one knows god'strue intentionsi'd rather be safeyears laterwhen god has leftbreath blows the dusthands pull the tapecanine bonesmoldering fura

on miracles.

2010-04-13T23:05:00.000-07:00

I've been kinda down lately. It's starting to reflect in my writing. Such as this one. on miraclespoetryremember that one timethat car wreck on main streetwhere the hood of your ninety eight nissanmerged with the hood of a eighty eight fordbits of windshield in your teethsprinkled with a dash of comayou were in the hospital for three weeksand they said you'd never walk againand you'd probably

traffic lights

2010-04-11T20:25:00.001-07:00

A lil' somethin' somethin' for all my hometown friends. Still working on this one.six yearspoetryishin twenty oh four we ran redlights in the cars our parents bought us, laughing with cigarette butts and cornchip bags dancing in our wake. time was slow like christmas, like grass growing, like a three-toed sloth making an intolerable journey up a redwood. we drank the boone's farm our older, more

rewriting fairytale endings

2010-04-09T23:55:00.000-07:00

I just kinda started writing. So. Yeah. Not perfect, but most of what goes up here isn't. ] I don't think I mention this enough, but if there's anyone out there who actually still reads this, I'm 100% open to constructive criticism... so... yeah. Just so you know.something I just thought ofkinda poetry, kinda chickenscratchit seems like lots of people get their happy endingsbut lots of people

rewritten, "gulp."

2010-04-06T18:06:00.000-07:00

Revamped a previous poem, gave it a shiny new title. Probably gonna use it for my workshop piece. Eh? Eh?gulpprose poetrythe rabbit hole was an esophagus. alice tripped over tastebuds and knocked her brains on uvula, gasping for breath as peristalsis pushed her toward gastric acid inferno. her asphyxiation produced hallucinations in which she found herself falling ever closer to the new old

wip

2010-04-04T08:05:00.000-07:00

[work in progress. untitled for now.]poetryishit has been awhilesince i woresoft new dressesthat still smell likedillard's, goody's, jcpenny'son sundayit has been awhilesince i got upearly anddid my hair andmom did my makeup andcarla looked twelveon a sundayit has been awhilesince i thoughtabout the crossor pal egg dyeor rabbits or basketsor going to churchon sundaythis easteri will go to work

i has modge podge.

2010-04-03T19:40:00.001-07:00

The title of this writing is kind of a lie. A lot of different people have said similar things to me in the past. It's a huge collage of cliches. But sometimes life is pretty cliche. the pep talk no one would give mefree writing/creative non-fic/bullshit that I call writingthis is for you, melissa. you think this is all a big waste. you don't know why you're here. i don't know why either. but

dos

2010-04-02T20:30:00.001-07:00

This is not what I wrote today when I skipped health class. It's something else. Small, fragile, and insignificant in the scope of things. Two poems, both poorly written. Double-post Friday.[untitled]poetrythere's a big nothing in your eyes. something heavy and unshaken.like stone, like medusa inverted. i tried.nosedived.broken neck.what else is left.i am a man with nothing to

fifty two sparks!

2010-04-01T23:37:00.000-07:00

HOLY CRAP.The last post was number 52 and I didn't even realize it! :OI'll be damned. Next mile marker: 104.

blow my speakers up

2010-04-01T21:33:00.000-07:00

Davis Schneiderman stopped by UCA yesterday for a workshop with our class and basically everyone else in the writing department who was free at the time. We played a little game in which we were given the first and last line and had to fill in everything in between.I don't mean to gloat or anything, but after I read mine, he said, "That's a good one." Or something to that effect. Anyway, he only

you can't tell me to heal.

2010-04-01T15:04:00.000-07:00

I feel a little guilty writing about the past, knowing that people from said past can access it at any time. I'm not that great at being cryptic these days; in fact, it pisses me off sometimes.So here's another not-so-cryptic poem, as I talk about the only tragedy this life has seen.Written Oct. 20th, 2009if i had to choosepoetryso far from where we werein medias res you found mebefore the

looking for some critiques.

2010-03-30T22:15:00.001-07:00

Heeeey... so I wrote these two prose poems, and I was wondering what you thought of them? Kthx. [the rabbit hole was an esophagus.]prose poetrythe rabbit hole was an esophagus. alice suffocated as peristalsis pushed her toward the acid inferno of wonderland. her coma produced a dream-like state in which she found herself falling, falling closer to the sounds of sloshing rain boots in a humid

photo project

2010-03-01T18:25:00.000-08:00

Hey, listen up you Conway kids. I've decided to throw together a photo collage type thingy for the student competitive show. Here's the idea:Someone once posed the question to me, "What would you do if you only had ten seconds left to live?" At the time, I didn't know. It's very interesting, though, to hear what other people's responses are. So I'm putting together a photo collage of the ten best

feeling everything.

2010-02-14T21:16:00.001-08:00

dirtpoetry-wipas a writeryou are supposed to beempatheticdig both handsinto the mulch of the earthsigh with the pain of your motheras she inhales carbon dioxideexhales nukes and aidsyou are supposed to shake fester with the boils of feeling everythingall the orphan girls in chinaevery ruble-dusted broken bone in haitievery illiterate whore on the streetand the shithead paying her for her "

can't sweat out.

2010-02-10T21:50:00.000-08:00

new stuff, ya dig? word. sweat it outpoetryi do not enjoy being female. some days. when my hormones are crazy i feel lonely and bare. memories creep like chills raising hairs on my neck and arms. i miss those whoi should not miss. i remind myself its a processand just like any other process it must run itscourse. just like a fever. i'm just waiting forthe break. i'm just waiting for the breaki'm

stay focused.

2010-01-27T18:12:00.000-08:00

A put-together poem I did in class today. "It sure would be nice to come home."prose poetryLess than two years after the incident, they were tired of him and they didn't want to pay up. He spent time as the first in history, but that barrier would be broken. It is hard to win because of the sometimes hostile and unfamiliar environments under the belt, but he was glad to have one victory and [was]

ok.

2010-01-13T22:20:00.000-08:00

I swear I'm working on something. It will probably take longer than a week. It looks pretty cool right now, though.Screw posting to this thing once a week. I'll update when I actually create something I'm proud of.Melco out!

Reflective Essay and the Last Spark

2009-12-31T11:16:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are--the last day of 2009. This blog was a complete and utter failure. So I should definitely try again next year, right? RIGHT!There are a few things I've learned this year that I think will improve my chances of success next year if implemented. For starters, I really think I put too many restrictions on myself this year. Originally I started 52S because I wanted to exercise my

all wounds heal with time

2009-12-18T21:39:00.000-08:00

scrapeI have matching scrapes on each hand, below the last thumb joint above the wrist, near the meaty part—glowing pink with infection they are landing lights if I hold them just right. A bruise throws off consistency, a painful reminder of last night’s shift.These hands, they’re always like this.Maybe not symmetrical but definitely never similar, various marks from Betty Crocker boxes or sharp

bump

2009-12-14T16:46:00.000-08:00

meteor showerreverse haikumaking thirty wishes onsixty shooting starsbut none of them will come true

the inevitable threat of conclusion

2009-12-11T22:25:00.000-08:00

This is my favorite from my portfolio.just like me, hates to be alonethis coffee tastes like Junedark tart liquid ambles past eleven amthe first post-coital cigarette of a new conquestlays spent in the ashtrayit’s far too cold to breathe this morningthe trees in my lungs would surely freezeif I dare inhale the dawn fogshe’s wrapped in my sheetsinside her chest rises andfalls against three-hundred

have they all gone?

2009-12-11T22:23:00.001-08:00

This poem is made up of a bunch of song titles. Yay found poetry!beyond repairfound poetryis the weight of the worldon my shouldersevery single night the same arrangementhave they all gonesuperstarwhere're you fromi'm just a normal boy thatsankwon't you come see about meyou tell me you don't love metoo much time has passed bywe met on a rainy evening in the summertimehe had it comin'hey we gotta

bestiality is not acceptable in modern society

2009-12-11T22:22:00.000-08:00

We had to write a poem about Arthur Rimbaud in my forms class. Good times.lesson learnedoh rimbaudyou fucked the poochon this oneyou really fiddled the wrongdiddle didn’t youAfrica held canceryour sun murderedmagnificent geniuslesson learned:shoulda stayed gaybroody as fuckpissing on cunts inunnamed barnhousesoff tablesat midnightpray for him, indeed

oh shit, a sexy poem!

2009-12-11T22:21:00.000-08:00

neighbors with benefitswe burned the walls downin that apartmentthe radioactive wavesfrom our skin explodingwithin four roach-sacked cardboardfortress barricades we vibratedthe room with ourfrantic motionlessbooming silencefrozen like statuesin death we found youclung to desperate fleshpraying to godswe don’t believe inthat you might stay longeror come againtry to rub you to lifefrom raw folds in

formatting is a bitch

2009-12-11T22:19:00.000-08:00

I don't know if the formatting will stick... oh well.roadtrip she walked cautious on the edge of an epiphany looking for a reason to drown the lightbulb in a sea of sludgelooked at me said shall we goi said surewe took a train across america in search of something thick meaningful my mom never

poetry for pros

2009-12-11T22:18:00.000-08:00

Insufferable Whoreprose poetry Tonight I will watch you bathe, you insufferable whore. I’ll peek through the window as you scrub your tits, shave your gash, masturbate and come. All the while I’ll be angry. Tonight I will watch you dial his number, you insufferable whore. From behind the closet cracks I’ll listen to your phone sex and chardonnay, gurgling incompetency. And I’ll be irate.

beware the onslaught of poetry

2009-12-11T22:15:00.000-08:00

here it comes. lots of poetry. post one.Blew my Fuckwad (Fuckin’ Cool)My friend at workHe saysquit smokingI guess I understand where he’s coming fromI mean, after all, it DOES give you cancerand fucks with your sinusesand shitbut man…I look fucking coolno, don’t deny itI look fucking bad ASSlike I just don’t give a SHITwhether I live or dieyeah, that’s rightI’m a fucking REBELcamel hangin’ out of

dear first infatuation/obsession/"love"

2009-12-05T22:22:00.000-08:00

ohI knew this day would comeI can’t get off alone orwith someonefind myself sorry to say you werea defining momentfar more so than my tragic defloweringor high school graduationNoyou came and rearranged the wiresplugged blue into redcut the greendidn’t leave instructions for the nextfool who would stumble upon thecircuit boxfor how to reconnecthow to undo what you didI only think about you nowin

the ellipsis (from the archives)

2009-11-28T03:36:00.000-08:00

Tonight I found myself "..."-ing in real time, in person. Esspecially after I read through some old blog entries. Here's one I feel now more than then.Written July 26th, 2006 A salute to the ellipsis. The headline

i suck at writing fiction

2009-11-18T21:38:00.001-08:00

can't think of a titlefiction"are you cold?"she slid her hands between her thighs to thaw her frozen fingers, pulling her shoulders around her treelimb legs in an attempt to keep what little body heat she felt in her skin. she looked like a vulture perched in the passenger seat with her chin between her knobby knees."i'm cold. can you turn on the heat?"his hand seemed reluctant as it reached for

i feel uncreative

2009-11-06T01:12:00.000-08:00

blurb in the midst of slamblood pumps faster when you pull me closertight like the night won’t endunless we let golike father time paused just to stare in aweat the beauty of usstatuesque stealing heat from one anothercheek against cheek in the chill of Decemberthe night won't endunless we let go

but then again, we all act this way

2009-10-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

i am single becauseat this age we are all stillreeling in the miseryfrom our first timerebounding torebounders lost in thecataclysmic explosion ofa heartache so direglued in the uncomfortable cool of tonightthick like butter from mouth to mouthwordless and eroded byactions undefinedwhere is my mindif i can reach out will i touch skinor trace the air with my fingertipsyour foreign figure a

two in one night, dear god

2009-10-27T00:03:00.000-07:00

the crappiness abounds. read on, dear reader, read on.as it werei foundyou a subtlesubstitute for agreater passion you'renot him you'll never be himthe pedestal never deterioratedwith time no withered wood here juststeel forged in heaven or hell i forget whichone has more strength these daysthe foolish woman in me thinkstoo much and romanticizesthings that are just whatthey are sweaty drunkhands

A change would do you good.

2009-10-26T23:16:00.000-07:00

Fuck it. The whole thing. Fuck "52-sparks", fuck schedules, fuck layouts, fuck order. In that order.Embrace chaos.I Wrote This Poem At 1:18AM on October 27thpoetry, mother fucker.some birds squawked like the devil was behindfull of redfire furythe door keeps openingclick (the bottom lock)click-click (the top lock)the hum and murmur of my solitary wonderconnection machine keeps me up

SHE LIVES!!!

2009-08-06T19:11:00.000-07:00

Heh heh, soo.... you may have noticed I took a little unplanned break from 52sparks (which, oddly enough, coincides with the beginning/ending of my summer break. Imagine that!) I lost my mind for a little while, but while moving from one apartment to another I found it underneath some old linens.Anyway, I'm back. I'm going to make up for all ten missed sparks (oh dear god ten) and hopefully blog

silence

2009-05-21T12:48:00.000-07:00

the silencepoetrytwo bodies sit inches aparta dock not far from herestars rippling in dark waterwind wrapping her hair into knotscrystal blue spheres stare outfrom behind stubble acne rubberskinfinger drumbeats on rotting woodreverb through the thick spaces betweenheart pushing out veins testing capacitysweat gathering at his brow threatening to jumplike a tiger tense and waitingprickled like

Girly

2009-05-15T22:00:00.000-07:00

From Geek to Chic in One Crush or Lesscreative nonfictionI don't think I was ever really a girly-girl growing up. I played sports--softball in the summer and taekwondo during school. I was in marching band and on the newspaper staff. I wasn't afraid of bugs, save wasps and bees. I've killed many a spider without a second thought. I mean, sure, I wore makeup and painted my nails occasionally, but

virus

2009-05-08T21:41:00.000-07:00

viral disappointmenthaikuunderneath her skirtlies an unholy man-vagoh shit it's old greg-----------------------get it? 'cause, like, it's a lamp shade... and when old greg lifts up his shirt, a bright light shines forth from his man-gina? get it? huh?... ok, so it's lame. whatever. images and writing copyright melissa conley 2009

distractions

2009-05-01T17:25:00.000-07:00

distractionspoetry i want to stretch out of my skinpeel it back like banana wrapperfeel the casing crack and pull apartthe muscles request trickling creek airthe tendons long for a kite breezeor simply a bubble-blowing breathmindspots wandering s l o w l y o u t t h e w i n d o weyes scanningbright conversecarpet feet c a r p e tvision holes back to blue lines

reading

2009-04-24T16:01:00.000-07:00

silence me at seapoetryelectric words sparki'm finding my feet on deckcrossing t's with sailor's eyeslightning at half mastheaving creakingplank cracks splinters scatterdrawing circles with blade tipsin invisible skymaps tell stories withcrinkles and tears and yellowed cornersit's a library of classicsit's a book of beautyand they willsilence me at seatwo steps over the hulltiny liquid abyss

bathtime

2009-04-18T17:14:00.000-07:00

bathtimepoetryopalescent bubbles pop likeheavy raindrops hitting puddleshot water covers my chicken-skini’m squishy from the neck downwhite puffy clouds cracklei giggle at the santa clause mustachei’ve given myselfraisin fingers shape blobs intocastles and donuts warm soft fluidcandles drip and extinguishthe first chill creeps uptickles my kneecapsthreatening invasivebubbles

spin

2009-04-10T23:31:00.000-07:00

the human conditiona poemusing chubby orange creamsicle chalki draw hearts on the concretei think theyre probably safer thereeven if they get washed outby rain or water hosesits better than storing them insidea volatile flesh with too manythoughts to disrupt the processthat organ is reputed forsitting with dusted fingersin cool october breezesmusings on the penalties of lovethe refuge and

fuck

2009-04-03T21:42:00.000-07:00

fucka rantToday was a bad day. I had to wake up at 3:30AM to take my little sister to the airport because she's moving to New Mexico permanently. I was down to my last few cigarettes, I had no cash, and I had a migraine beating the back of my eyeballs.I got back to my apartment around 7AM and to take my mind off things, I turned to the almighty internet--Facebook first. I saw that my friend

vacation

2009-03-27T11:36:00.000-07:00

[blogger's note: this poem and picture don't exactly go together. why post then? 'cause I wanna wanna. and I really like this poem.]bloody debbie (mind if i smoke?)poetryclicking important bleach blondehair flat ironed and denim jacketedshe walks like shes gotta pisscoming at me kamikaze blue anddetermined to crashshe looks at my nicotine dragbehind specs with a stern glare "you see that sign

coffee

2009-03-19T22:07:00.000-07:00

coffeecreative nonfictionWhen I was a fresh-faced 18 and had first moved out on my own, my mother bought me a coffee maker as a house warming gift. It's a great little gizmo--all sleek and black and sexy--which has lasted me about five years. It makes really tasty coffee... and tea, and hot cocoa, and at one point, ramen (gotta love dorm life.)Though I'm sure my mother had good intentions when

light

2009-03-13T12:35:00.000-07:00

lightworkspoetryand i sayi really couldn't care lessbut what i mean is thati couldn't care less thanlistening to the rain on my window unitsomeday i won't care so much aboutthe cracks in betweenthe random roaches crawling in mindspacesthe liquid dripping ceiling and hot white heatthe consistency of my inconsistent brainholeshe looks at me with disgustsitting in her tall victorian chairgodcan't

magic

2009-03-07T11:07:00.000-08:00

"It's magic," she said, staring at the sun through the slits in the window blinds. "The sun comes up in the morning, and goes down at night. It's magic!" Ten year-old Kacy looked back at her father with a smile like an orange wedge.Her father smiled back an awkward curve. "Well, no, Kacy," he started. "It's not really magic, the earth is--""Yes it is!" she insisted. "How does it move? The sun? Do

abandoned

2009-02-27T16:30:00.001-08:00

abandoned haikuabandoned i sitcan you hear me calling outonly lost echoes-------------So this week there won't be any writing. I've been very busy entering competitions and doing homework and just generally being a college student. Hopefully this lack of substance won't become a trend... :SEDIT: APR. 24, 2009Haha, so I went back and added a haiku for your enjoyment. So... enjoy!copyright Melissa

human

2009-02-20T20:12:00.000-08:00

yo yo crash fadpoetryi started drinking diet 'causei'm not the size i wasnor am i the size i want to beand if they tell jessica simpson she's too bighow am i supposed to feel about fat rollscan i not in good consciousnesswear a tank topbecause my arms wobble a bit(in truth, high waisted pants don't look good on anyone)diet sodas taste like water with

lubricious

2009-02-12T23:36:00.001-08:00

lubricioushaikuI learned a new wordtoday between the satinsheets and clumsy hands----------Ok, ok, I know what you're thinking. "A haiku? That's it?! It's the day before V-day, surely you have more to say than just three lines!"All I can say is keep an eye out for a renegade post sometime this weekend... :-Oimages and writing copyright melissa conley 2009

loneliness

2009-02-05T22:30:00.000-08:00

lonelinesspoetrythe floor is packed with bodiesgrinding hasty and awkwardin a drunken haze.it's dark,except for when it isn'tlights are flashinglike apocalypsei sip liquid courage from a solo cupthrough a straw of mal-intentthinking briefly of spring break at six flagswhere i was people watchingfrom the ground outside the batman ride(i was a chickenshit--rollercoasters scare me)clumps of dark

Ice

2009-01-29T20:23:00.000-08:00

IcecnfBe forewarned: The following contains content not suitable for readers with taste. It is advised that you navigate quickly away from this page--that or abandon all hope now.Abandoned? Good. Please continue.I used to want to be a meteorologist when I grew up. I did. But now I’m glad I didn’t pursue it. You know why? Because all meteorologists are cunt-wielding liars. Here I am, Monday night,

hold my hand

2009-01-22T21:53:00.000-08:00

hold my handcreative nonfictionIn highschool, I felt like I was lucky a lot of the time. Things just generally turned out well for me. I had decent grades without stressing over studying, I could sightread really well which helped me a lot in band, and I could write stories really fast so my journalism teacher wouldn't snap at me.Ok, that's kind of a lie. I pushed the deadline back as much as I

forgiveness

2009-01-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

forgivenessfictionShe shook. Her fingers trembled, her arms vibrated, her chest heaved with wrath and the occasional sob. The linoleum floor was cold against her bare feet. Her toes curled, attempting to stop the heat from leaving her body. The early morning light from the window illuminated the mauve-and-cream plaid table cloth she had insisted on buying when they moved in. The table was bare,

kiss

2009-01-09T08:23:00.000-08:00

Kissthe first cigarette of the new yearis bitter, like cold coffeewind knocking on the windowsdemanding to be let inthe smoke hangs around my headthoughts from yesterday my mind purging the oldmaking a fresh, clean startalone, but not lonely flicking ashes on a snow white fieldunrepentant thinking of nothing in particular.First post! Welcome to fifty-two sparks! To find out more, check out my

The Countdown

2008-12-03T05:01:00.000-08:00

The Countdown is on.Posting will commence here Friday, January 9th 2009."But, Melco," you ask, "what is fifty-two sparks?"Guess you'll just have to wait and see...