drops like that

Backs pale against the carpet. I knew I was getting close when the titles stood out. The Shining, his pained psychotic face at the door. American Dream I got from a yard sale in Largo, edged in blue, Mailer and his shotguns. She pressured the 20th Century Russian Reader with her palm and we came. I held her as we slipped down into cotton fibers. I turn my head to the side and face The Waves. They are breaking and rolling outside. Russian vodka drops me like that, blacks me out. Soon I will be far away. Another city. Another state. - by #katyamills

love gone bad

shrapnel of moon in the sky
four rooms to pace
they felt like chewed to death gum
the stairs
stacked three cases high
a couple of lost souls on their asses hanging arms through bars
on the rails. names carved in a heart
in the top of a post
circling the well

#katyamills

highlight

the darkness 

obliterated by the light

the rush of euphoria charted upon your troubled face

gave credence to our 

cadence

#katyamills

Royal. [8.16.1998]

The sleep would not come the ink would not run. Close to paranoia in paralysis on bleached sheets, drag off a newport, shallow lying on my side on this borrowed mattress on brown paint roses and thumbtacked vinyl on a slanting floor. And when i drop off a car alarm rebukes me, setting a dog to barking, a call gets a response, and now they all are howling like wolves in a forest. The sleep will not come again. the ink will not run though i try, opening up my journal to the blank page bookmarked. Without words so i sketched a poor rendition of your face from the side, the image vivid in my mind, too bad i am no good at drawing. I make up a wonderful imaginary eye. The following night made up for the last with relentless dreams. Riding around in cars. Running too fast down a hill with a friend and he gets close and crosses my leg and i tumble for a fall. A man walks confidently into my bedroom (plush and much nicer than the real one) to steal me away. My mother getting stoned and accidentally telling me i am beautiful.   

by #katyamills  on 8.16.1998

Royal [8.15.1998]

Exertion to almost dawn evolved into something effortless… the whole production seemed almost pointless but that’s what made it carefree… the later the night the heavier things got… the drinking, the smoking, the chasing… powder folded up with mirrors hide the life lines cracked like former factory floors, the pores like potholes clogged with oil and dirt… rising up from the basement of tax brackets into some starched shirt’s arms… lush Cadillac interiors rolling low on tired struts below the immense buildings… the money clean the language dirty. wanting it all. coffee stains the teeth like lacquered tables. a simple twist of a blind loosens tongues behind loveless lips. service workers bending backs for high tips. exhaust bubbles up over a line of pipes along the curb, a stone’s throw from a great lake, outside clubs with cathedral ceilings. sometimes life is a mess, empty pockets and hurt feelings.

by #katyamills from 8.15.1998

suffer 4 not believing

Millions of phones ring simultaneously every second on earth. A couple side by side at the top of twenty stone steps. The relaxed lips of lovers before the heavy orange door. A car drives past, music blasts. Kids shouting out. Coming so close on a scratcher and losing. The one who caught the bouquet at the wedding again and still unmarried. Sunflower with a dark center. We are possessive, scared of losing, of who we are without it. Apartments and homes hopelessly cluttered beyond recognition. Drawn away from whatever we are doing. Tempted to drop the cigarette on the carpet and walk away. Life is simple and absurd. Breaking the truth to someone way beyond what they believed and having them stare at you tearfully wondering why you are unreal. Life is complicated. Now you are the one to suffer for not believing. Life is strange. with nothing to do you drink vodka and join in song home on the range feeling emotionally withdrawn.   #katyamills. 8.20.1998

Royal [8.23.1998]

It was mid August when he said goodbye to his friends and traveled north from the Gulf Coast to the Great Lakes ready for a different life. He had a small savings and signed a lease for a flat off of Armitage, three floors up from the ground, northwest of the city. The space was unremarkable. Surrounded by red brick factories. All four winds could travel through it and there was a slender view of the city skyline and decent light. He signed a lease on the trunk of the man's car. The week after he moved in a former tenant shouted up to the open window and reclaimed an oak wood desk he had left. Someone crashed a car at 2am into a telephone pole in the alley and set it on fire. This was no accident. He went back to bed while his cat watched the flames from the windowsill. A kind woman named Monetta shared a back porch with him and they got to talking. She was spiked on vodka, Stoli. He discovered her terrific laughter when she learned of his favorite drink. Seagram's whiskey with milk on ice. One lazy Sunday they walked down to Western Ave and had lunch at Lazo's Tacos while sharing art and literature.   #katyamills