Behind The Counter

Behind The Counter    

Clean and quiet
Quiet and clean
A man still boy
a human still forming
Does he yearn for the opposite
or is he mirror-biased
Has he lost the dreams of childhood
or transformed them to goals in life
Does he even know his desires
or is he still trapped in underoos and cherrios

His mind’s an unmade purchase
an unseen sale
across an artificial moat
in a plastic retail forest

Tressa Lee Breen
January 11, 2014



There’s a headless person sitting on my couch
No it’s not as bad as that
no blood
no gore
no skin
just no head that’s all

No features to tell sex
(or even if they’ve had any)
A plaid shirt, denim pants
with old scuffed up workboots
waiting patiently for its top to come rolling back
(or perhaps being pulled back by its tongue)

It’s been there for sometime
not a sound
not a smell
not a move

I don’t look at it directly
I don’t sit in the same room
but it’s around me always
in or out of house

It’s become my inner shadow
and my skin has taken on a bluish tinge
my feet feel like dark old leather

I have to hold my head very still now
for my neck bones crack at the slightest nod
or smallest attempt at food

I fear it will soon have no reason
to stay sitting on my couch

Tressa Lee Breen
January 6, 2014 

Wake The Dead

Wake The Dead    

Clawing through clumps of dirt
stones break my nails
flesh opens like a grave filled with one still breathing
and the soil becomes damp with my blood

Am I pulling myself up
is there a coffin at my back
am I wrapped in heavy starless night
and going down to find the rest of me

The earth is so comforting
silky grains of sand flow by me
so restful
so distracting
like a blanket that seems so warm
that one does not feel the weight
the smothering
for years

The casket cover becomes a lover
The empty evening becomes an embrace

Sedative not seductive
Complacent not comfort
Paralyzed not peace

It doesn’t matter if I dig up or dig down
so long as I dig out
past the clumps of lost time
through the pain my stupidity costs me

I will not waste my blood again

Tressa Lee Breen
January 3, 2014

Hard Cover

Hard Cover   

I can feel the rolls on my back
when I lie down at the end
they crunch up against each other
like memories of mistakes
and keep me wandering the bed
for the position that allows peace

Memory zombies
never stay dead
never stay buried
but instead lumber on
through altered states and altered scenarios
woulda coulda shoulda
all become black-eyed dogs
barking the chill of eternity

I though I’d find the way
to burn my name into the sun
Now I can’t find a way
to ban the monsters to the closet
and to stop the wicked little things under my bed
from following me
scritch scritch scritch

Sleep and food are my goals
hardening my actions
atrophying ambitions
now covered in cloth of stone

Tressa Lee Breen
December 16, 2013