January 5th, 2011

Lola Rennt


I lie in bed and plunge headfirst into the cracks between your unsaid words. I’m warmed by a smile I cannot see. Touched by an emotion that is not mine to have. I lay in bed and indolently paint a new universe around myself borrowing pigments from all the realities I once left behind. I color today’s sky with yesterday’s tears. I tear up fraying snapshots, scatter them overhead, and make countless wishes on the newborn stars. Sighs once filled with pain of disappointment are today’s zephyrs carrying the faint aroma of lilacs and returning hope.

I feel for a feeling, for an ocean sloshing in my cupped hand, for a smile trapped behind the social norms, for a warm whisper that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention, for a familiar heartbeat of an unfamiliar person.

I lie in bed and am slowly lured into a dream by my reawakened imagination welcoming me back into my old home of brand new castles in the sky. I close my eyes and plunge headfirst. I think I can hear what you meant not to say.

by Steven Beckly
Lola Rennt


Silent, trembling fingers full of expectant nerve endings reaching across the distance.
Cuticles sacrificed to neuroses of unsatisfied cravings confided to the night.
The seams of propriety straining under the pressure of suppressed tenderness.
Eyes twinkling with secrets bursting forth to illuminate the dark divide.
Gently being led by the strings you pull not in circles, in spirals:
                                                          revisiting old sentiments as we find new territory.
Logic blushing coyly, flirts clumsily with the explicit impossibility.
Losses are finite: this is the newness of all things old.