Author Archives: lisadivenuta

About lisadivenuta

I live my life based on bathroom graffiti. ~live for the mad ones, dig everything!~ 21, girl, upstate but not real upstate New York

Too Old

Ode to rotting

ode to naked, labile moon

my dumpster diving sunflower remedy

I take my clothes off and hope for an antidote


Ode to nothing, because everything is good again

Ode to laugh tracks which become sinister

ode to

repressed memories and



criminal night life


I had a lobotomy

it was very


the smell of springtime

specifically May

purifies me

where do we stop, your greedy eye sockets

are filled with quicksand and



Big Victorian houses

seduce me

wherever I go.




The only fossil left on earth left in the palm of my hand.

If you see something, say something, or so I’ve been told.

The only city I know has been bleached in bad taste.

When we wake, the world has gotten rid of its traffic signals.

When we wake, no one remembers who was broken.

In every dream, I see you covered in blankets.

I can barely make out your face.

The elevators have frozen; we must take the stairs.

How elegant the galaxy looks in the heat of July.

In the heat of the moment, we make love in our bomb shelter.

Tell the earth to keep shaking.

Watch the brownstones unlock their prejudiced doors.

When I close my eyes, the world is covered in dust and the world is mine.

When the sheets conform to our skeletons.

Vertigo ripped my house in half.

You’re the comic relief looking through my gilt-framed mirror.

You try to exhume my nostalgia.

I make us into paper dolls that slide beneath locked doors and no one is ever home.

Walk me through the Stations of the Cross.

We forget each other’s names.

Every item on every grocery list crossed out and fed to hungry families.

Lets retreat to fake sleep.

I have you cover my eyes in case a beam of light enters the periphery.

My dream and your dream sip chamomile tea behind blackout curtains.

Love grows from an abscess.

Tensile love supporting each earth.

The only saint I worship is Ursula.

You carve me a slice of crescent moon with your dirty fingernails.

When the end comes, we must be ready.

We armor ourselves in necklaces of bone and five red bats.

Not one dream catcher.

We’re groping the side of a cliff while trying to fall.

Here’s a candlelight vigil for your favorite mirage.

The only sentiment left in this world is can you hear me.

You can have the inside of the bed.

I will grow a garden of knives beneath the mattress.

We ebb and flow tyranny like the Romans.

I forget when I last saw the sun.

I forget the difference between day and night.

When my doppelganger looks up from the street and I am stationary in my secret annex.

She has been watching for at least a week.

I hope the asteroid strikes soon.

We wait for disemboweled misery’s defense.

I see antlers on the roof of every car fleeing this refugee camp.

I scratch reason into sacred runestones and they disintegrate.

The only dreams I have now are debased by foggy morals.

I have already written the ending to our tragedy.

You say, isn’t that something.

Red (Red) Wine Cinquain


Four glasses into the night, the road runs right in two

Franzia nights; I had lost my spine

When my eyes bled me into you.

Confined between times, silence overdue

Coupled on a love sea, bled into blue.


All is well

before the streets explode with anxiety.

Call me a cab.

Distance yourself, these tenement

eyeballs never cease to stare.

Forgive me, I

grope the right way.

Have you heard?

I am fluent in

jibberish, a language you don’t


Lightning strikes in between my toes.

Move over.

Nobody wants to live in perpetual


Pending the very end, but jumping is

quite a nice way to fly.

Roads crumble when footsteps leave them.

Scraps of

time are left for the



waiting for children with

Xeroxed faces

you just

zone out.


I have been holding

My cards in a way that I can’t see.

When I put on

Your sepia sunglasses, the world is

More forgiving, can’t you tell?

I have been held

Back and forth and in captivity and now by you.

The verdict is in.

I live amongst

Swamp-like creatures. I wonder who still goes to church.

Read my fortune.

Then make it your own.

As I grow fur to cover the bruises.

As crayfish consume your maddening tent.

Ready? You begin to fall.

Rug burn hurts the most.

But it doesn’t hurt until you stop.

And a binary code has been cracked.  Look at our children.

Clawing through an eviscerated adolescence. Guns leading  the way.

I forgive God for making us like this.

I forgive a torn hymen.

I forgive vanity. I come up for air, shudder and cough.

I will leave this place, and never look back.

I will pick hydrangeas.

No, I never liked that.

Cicadas: A Love Story

Who is king in this winded up world?

A symphony of tin cans that rattle in place of a neighbor

Hug me as if to say never mind.

I tied them together to make a kite, it doesn’t help.

They sent me a muttering


(Not delivered.)

I won’t belong to any of these universes.

Winged nymphs will devour your craw

Magicicadas erect new walls

Confusing themselves, but it is barely spring.

(I am not there; if you look, look now)

Somewhere in between

Craters of organelles,

Red-eyed battles, beasts that engorge like blood oranges-

Our tongues elope.

Something other than God

Stares at you through

Damask wallpaper in citadel


Each grace is

Impeccably versed.

We can’t hear anything besides

Winged nymphs making love again and again

(So look-look now!)

But there’s never going to be a girl like me.

Nothing sounds the same in their version of English

And they wonder why

No one has anyone to talk to

But I do.


Here we have impoverished settlers

Holding paper fans that threaten self-immolation

Where the rumors live, Tiger Ridge

(Just as soon kill you

than look at you)

There’s good in everyone

I suppose

Ignore the horrors seen behind


Couplets and clippings and nativity scenes

Butterfly blood pure as

You’ll never find what you seek.