Cave Scribbles is a literary journal for poetry, flash fiction, and short fiction. View our table of contents for a list of pieces. Thanks for reading!

So many beautiful moments
have been ruined by me.
By me rejecting the concept
of loving something
despite its flaws.
By me seeing nothing
but stretch marks everywhere,
on everything, or those two tiny
black waterfalls. Bones hidden

so far below the surface
you can't tell if its human or animal
dead or alive. Technology enables
me to play with psychology
but it becomes lonely
like a field of grass.

I am sure I would enjoy it more
if I felt like my hip bones were knives
or that my smile was more of a warning
than a welcoming, or that my hair when wet
could leave your flesh red. All we want
is to have and to hold someone
that understands us like a bird
understands a worm,
but sometimes it seems
like this is too much
to ask of the universe;

the poor thing is overwhelmed,
gravity and physics and time
tremble and collapse and crash
like the stock market
and all that is left
are the stars and dozens
of wishes falling out of them
like the rust off a dead city.


For a moment last night
I experienced your love
through various natural chemicals
paternal and devastatingly beautiful
it was so delirious and nourishing
like bread after a long hike.

For the second or third time
you disappear completely
like the ghost of a giant
you are left a burn in my mind,
gracing graveyards and asylums
and a valley's bitter streets.
I imagine you swallowing chainsaws
like mother's milk, nonchalantly.

For a few moments last night
I experienced flight
as something I miraculously conjured up
out of desperate need
and in total darkness
save my phone's light.

Swimming through air
colder than a new home's water
I saw a bridge and lights
and the sadness of prostitution
for the very first time.

I wonder where you are, if you are
running away from hundreds of hospital beds
girls and methamphetamine.
Sometimes I wonder if one kiss from me
would make all those things disappear.

If I ever encounter the deja vu of a dream,
I will immediately turn around
and run.


About Andrea Jane Kato

Andrea Jane Kato was born in the great state of California and was raised Buddhist by a gypsy-like artist mother (deceased) and a Japanese farmer who currently grows pineapples in Hawaii. She is a Capricorn, Dragon, INTJ, HSP, Atheist, singer/ songwriter, abstract painter/artist, iPhone photographer who likes yoga, fasting, and smoking. She has been published in magazines such as The Blue Jew Yorker, My Favorite Bullet, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Beat, Ditch, Pomegranate, ReadThis Magazine, and Alternativereel.