Outside Your Host

by C.C. Russel

Originally published on October 5, 2002

Sticks scrape a rhythm
to years ago,
some small part of you maybe still.
You remember his name
he knows.
Not much else,
he thinks.
You stare at dark nothings.
You could still call,
shrink time
a bit
in the oven
of your room.
You could pull it down
to size,
widen his breath
and eyes,
but you drop,
lie
for an hour
to music he taped
and sleep
again.

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Orange, Black, Green, The Carpet; The Sand

by C.C. Russel

Originally published on October 1, 1997

Days when the secret spots
of the reservoir
opened secrets
of skin
and reopened
until we would lie
more than walk.
Perfect android lines
of what I wanted
and you knew.
Playful.
And the smell on the wind
some days still
ten miles away
and that is the closest
I come
because that place is you
repressed.
The forcefulness of truth
and lack therein.
Sometimes I would give it all away
to have it all [...]

D. Days

by C.C. Russel

Originally published on October 1, 1997

14.
Still some magic left
in numbers
though there was time
and minnows,
small sticks
to flame,
days and nights inseperable
through touch.
Limbs.
In a way we were one tree,
but half of us
dead.

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I Know

by C.C. Russel

Originally published on September 1, 1997

The cranberry juice twinge
of your
water eyes
blurring into t.v. blues,
you’re on the edge
of his bed
and it’s obvious
you’re still thinking
it was yours
for a while.
A short while.
You’re tired,
levitating
above the legal percentage,
seeing everything
in doubles.
You’re staring too hard
too long
and trying not to know
that neither on of him
will ever come
back.

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