C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

The cache of red and black...; Relax with the Avenue to Your Back; I want to take the plunge before

By: Karla Khine



The cache of red and black that rests in my attic never bleeds.



I


Its dimensions are endless, and I hope the company of myself will soon be

enough to fill its boroughs and provoke a slow outburst, not a torrent or flood.

Inside this cache rests the sum of my cares and my fears, and the bulk of my wants and desires.

Mechanical elements commute to the apparatus to be transported interoffice.

Maybe some questions are destined to be forever suspended in the air. The initials on the

cerebral streetlamps are not mine; I can’t recognize them but they’re pink

and purple

stained,

my two favorite colors.

II


Visceral concrete lines the walls. Accompaniment is

sometimes able to fill the cracks, but I’ll choose unloved instead. The phenomena of

it all lays wrapped in a blanket lying next to an empty basket on a shelf. A flower

and a magazine have more in common than you think. The fan spins while I’m at

church and a dust-moon seraph creeps into the woods behind my wrists. The buttons and

socks hold the deed and the metal worm is eaten by the purple cow. My silk bowtie

and his pink pants are best friends, they tell each other secrets late at night during


a screening of a fate film.

III


Never odd and never even. He never fails to see the photographic collage that lies within

his gaze. He drafts a building, in which the metaphysical interior with a sun dies. A deluge inundates yet fails to impair the children. I hope his personal grotto is more friendly than mine. Moonmists dance and glide across the clear and project spirits dancing on grasshoppers.

To me this is more beautiful than anything.




Relax with the Avenue to Your Back



I hear a knock on my door. I open the door to see a bunny lying on my mailbox.

“The West needs to find herself before the East burdens her with

responsibilities.”

“So, it commences, the cotton trim and her daughter distance themselves from the

the pomegranate and her cat.”

My calendar is off, so I set off to organize it amongst the states of cardboard.

“Towers are sweethearts in my dreams. God? Not that much.”

“Is that why you and the little hours talk endlessly into the night?”

You imposed this on me and because of that, pantheism and I are strangers, almost enemies.

“I wish the summer sun was capable of shooting beams into my head.”

“Maybe one day you’ll be able to burn your love into the gardens.”

The dance I do with the yellow pianos is personal and I hope you can never see them.

“A cinema of angers, electric with the souls of the condemned.”

“How am I supposed to believe in its existence?”

One day, when she’s long gone, I’ll realize how much she’s done for me, and I’ll cry.

Wrinkles grow with my tattoos and laid to rest are the both of us in nearby coffins.

Life plays with us.

It’s fun to play when the stars can talk.

I grow tired of turning doorknobs and my bones turn soft.

I can no longer play like I used to.

“Formal attire is required for a reason.” I’m wearing a tennis skirt and penny loafers.

She tells me I look beautiful and sweet like an autumn October.

Again, I cry, while her hair turns platinum and so does mine.




I want to take the plunge before




the man with handgun tells me it’s

too late and I flop on my belly hard and wet.

The mirror sits in front of me, oh yes, it sits

in front of me alright while the woman in

the blue vestito records my every move.

God watches from above the little black circle that’s my

head- watches it move side-to-side and up-and-down

like his little 2D darling- watches me try to capture

the tiny balls of joy that he purposefully

puts in front of me to toy with my head.

My inner hardens with each feeble attempt.

One day I’ll be all hard and no soft and the

few tiny balls that are inside of me will

spill out for someone nearby to ravage for themselves.





Karla Myn Khine is a Filipino-Burmese aspiring writer. She currently attends the University of Houston where she studies Biochemistry with minors in English and Film Studies. She grew up in Harlingen, Texas, in the humble region of the Rio Grande Valley. After undergrad, she plans on getting her MFA in Creative Writing. In her free time, she likes to play with her pet bunny, Cookie.

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