secret secret

30 Apr

Lately I have been feeling more private about my work and constrained by the public access to my blog. I would like to write more personally, more dirty, more raw. My only option to do this in a way that felt good as an artist and as a person who considers writing my career was to charge for a subscription.

If you are still reading and interested in reading the meatier stuff, please consider becoming a subscriber to my blog. You can paypal alysia dot angel at gmail dot com  with a one time ever fee of $50. It gets you a personal to you password and lifetime access to my online work. I strongly encourage people to contact me if that amount feels like a hardship. I am always looking for trade from folks with strong editing skills to finesse my pieces.




a tap on the throat twice

14 Jun

here inside a tiny box

the same song plays

wind it up

play the song

here inside a tiny box

not even an ornate one

but one that i happened to find

while cleaning out a closet

lives a song i once sang

while cradling the moon in

one hand

and you in another

but that’s because

i thought you were a wolf

the night

the pearl to

rival the moon

instead of this old




from a cardboard


prayer hands

9 Jun

i stood in front of the willow tree

it’s massive you know

the trunk alone dominates their yard

truly green too

emerald is the closest comparable

around the corner from my house

the people who live there

have made a mockery of it

shaped it into a sort of

flat top haircut

the kind brothers who are

a little sweet

are made to get

in hopes that cutting off curls

into spiny little soldiers

might possibly

stop nighttime eyeliner

i know it’s not neighborly

to hate

but when i thought about

showing you this

as a way to explain

how a willow tree

saved my life once


i get so mad

i could spit

my lover is dubious of it

15 May

every time i see bull thistle

i think of you

how you wore your hair wild

while i wondered

which shoe you kept your drugs in

the you that said on your tombstone

it would scream

i don’t want to hurt you

but i will

as i admire the dense and prickly stalks

the blazing pink heads

of the bull thistle

i smile about the you who

took a blood oath

under a willow tree

in one hot texas


a party a day

28 Nov

one winter you bought me

fingerless gloves

at a place i would never

be able to afford

a ridiculous price

for such a small

swatch of


and thick lace

two months later

you would break my


leave me thinking of how

while you fed me like a

baby bird

i counted the creases

one, two, three, four

in your expensive and well



counted the lines

around your eyes

one two three

when you smiled

wrote iambic pentameter

to impress you

promised everything

inside that poem

ten years later

i can’t pretend i am not


because this was the first year

it was cold enough to make me hunt

try as i might

i could only find one of your




where the other half lives

so does our best and worst


some cages some days

24 Nov

here is the way

this invisible bird sings

all alone

long cool sips

of honeysuckle

silvery moonrise

over the treetops

golden sunbathing

with eyes closed

no mate

no fear

wings and wind

but always this tree

always this song

always this girl

standing still in the dark

all alone

singing back

no mate

no fear

fingers and wind

but this life

this invisible friend

who knows her


pick it up and throw it down

21 Nov

here is the thing

about being average

you can be a mollusk

your feminine oyster mysteries

around you

shell parted slightly

suggesting a kiss

if you are very lucky

in your lifetime at the bottom

holding up a great body of water

one of those times you

dare to part your

seductive shells

a gift of a


will get lodged

inside of you

it will give you a start

at first

who can blame you

but like all hard

working class


you will carry it with you

over time the splinter

will be smoothed by

your keening

your maybe lovely

maybe not


your nighttime stories

your dreams of

warm waters

bringing you babies

if you are average

all of the ocean floor

looks magical

every bubbling rush

from schools of fish

is a ballet

every whale song

is a perfect aria

even plankton

are precious

to an average oyster

laying gently

amongst all oysters

who someday

discovers a pearl

under her



you feeling brave

18 Nov

i didn’t know the bees had made

home in my belly

even though i swallowed

them in secret

those years when love

was scarce enough

to make a person desperate

no i went on living

thinking the faint hum

that would come out into

cold air in electric gasps

was nothing

probably imagined

kind of crazy person


but today i coughed up

a dark sticky chunk

of our honeycomb memories

fall in the rainiest season yet

the popping sound of tires

the surprise quiet in my heart

proof that the bees

never stopped working

to preserve us in what might

amount to a handful

of honey

fire in the fields

15 Nov

there isn’t a picture of us
late summer sweat
warm wood planks and
naked feet
of the way your thick fingers
pulling in the fishing lines
from your
of a boat
or of the way
your swagger made two shadows
one feminine
one masculine
both cracked in half once again
(and then again)
there is no physical evidence
that i once stole away on your vessel
hid myself inside a locket
under your sailor ropes
yet here you are
barnacled to
my heart
as real as
the saltwater
you once whistled
into a tornado



from there to there

9 Nov

i hate the word daddy
long buried landmines
tip toe feet in the dark
i love the word daddy
christmas tree gasps
the strongest arms
holding the word
i hate the word daddy
an alleyway
too many midnights
a couch in the shape of
a tanker
lost at sea
i love the word daddy
torn nets for fish
freeing seal thighs
into the wild
of a better

in your first swing it hit

8 Nov

there is a chewing 

on the ends of my days

a kind of small change

that cannot be known

unless you are always looking


for bite marks

(as it always has been)

on the dining table are faded letters

tied up with a bow

on the front walkway are apologies

jagged little hungry things 

in the pomelo tree i will hide my shadow

there it will sleeps until summer

too high for the hunger

the writer

the ferine fox