semisweet end

when i die bury me pen in hand

typewriter for a stone. do not trust your sight

or touch the body scentless

cold and frightful in the ground

while my spirit seen there

wanderin the cemetery grounds leans

off a row whistling some

semisweet show tune

#katyamills

rockstar #1201

the city outside

restless

yearning

they make

windmill inflections
metal-dipped harp strings 

a door off its hinges they

lean off the wall 

listening to it all
talking to self ina 

wistful way like a 

lost son’s 

mother’s 

prayer


#katyamills

they.the.firmament

They were in Florida at the time. Ocean, orange juice stands, rednecks, salt and sugar, lizards. She was coming down for a visit one week. The summer of ‘98 found them smoking and drinking, watchin the surf pounding away at the beach, lulling them to sleep until the sun rose and woke their asses up. Pop some X and go for a swim. Lay out the multicolored towels. Feelin the sun layin in the light. He was pushing into keys on the typewriter nights while she kicked back on the couch reading magz. They worked their fingers across the board so the letter arms wouldn’t rust, living off the pay and bonus from the last job. Rumbling around the intercoastal on the bike to take the steam off a hot humid day after the noon rains.      


– Katya Mills. Excerpt from my new project, tentatively titled They The Firmament.

ghostofgreeneyes

ona street a cat

confronts me the ghost

of green 

eyes

came up crying

talking to me 

like you felt

my pain

you did

know how to hiss

forgot how to

purr

i got some crumbs

for you and some

time. get down

low

crying

ghost of green

eyes. here

i remember i

was not allowed 

to

#katyamills