A blog by Nikki Dudley about the gaps in everyday life...



My first collection, Hope Alt Delete, is available from The Knives Forks and Spoons Press and on this blog

My chapbook, exits/origins (July 2010) is available from The Knives Forks and Spoons Press or you can buy a copy on this blog.

A few poems:

Please note that formatting may be incorrect due to blogger.


No one knew anything about that place up there except that it was
high high and
dark dark
and cold cold cold.
But I’m telling you, dearest, this isn’t true.
The ideas of aerodynamics wouldn’t apply here.
From a distance, it looks like                                                        peace.
You listening to this, Bigeyes?  
“No,” said the waitress and, she lovingly fingered the lump under her ear.
He raised his glass but not to them. He throws stones at donkeys…
I did not want to go outside. It’s your fault, darling, but
you may bring me cups of tea. She wasn’t a woman:
she was a suitcase: as red as terror and as green as fate.
You have nice ramifications. The tulips are red, a darker crimson
towards the stem, as if they have been cut and are
beginning to heal there. Likewise, the parents of children
who playfully picked and chewed paint had no idea of
the disastrous consequences. Where
did you know him to know all that stuff on him?
There is indeed
a hero
inside of me.


Little earthquake, you’ve grown
through me like the branches of a tree that have
always been
can’t shake you but you
shake me.

 Today you must be 9.0
on the scales my body
the body
isn’t mine – who, belongs to who
….. now you                                                        belong to me.

Pulses, little earthquake
your eyes are open your eyes
can’t see me.
The divide skin deep will always be
that way tremors don’t hurt
until the fire.

Love is inside me, love is
under my ribs, hiding the shrinking
grip of fear.
You are beautiful and monstrous
like rain that cools
but floods
my heart/your heart.

Little earthquake, you rumble
like unspent energy building
constructed in pieces
borrowed and begged.

Little earthquake, your feet will be grounded
in the pit of my stomach like a seed that
never shifts, and
though you grow, the seed stays

buried under vessels and ink. 



(found material from ‘The Answers’ by Catherine Lacey)

Such a luxury it was, to not be
overwhelmed by decay. When
she met my eyes, I noticed
her face change a little, in ways
I couldn’t exactly explain, but
could feel.

It was a relief for someone
to explain what was wrong, what
had happened. They’re off the grid, I explained, though
that didn’t really explain it.

It still makes no sense, even all these years later.

In the photo, I am seventeen. She didn’t look at me. She may never
have looked at me again. 

I couldn’t remember whether Ed had told me the neck
had something to do with
expression or abandonment or intuition, but
I signed

the contract 


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