My Dear, Act of God

•May 27, 2015 • Leave a Comment

When I was small,

There was a great storm,

A whole tree fell on to my neighbor’s house.

Her insurance company called this

“An Act of God”

Something for which there is no insurance,

There is no protection, no payback,

Only shambles

In its wake.


I thought one day

Back when you were still new

And shining

And foreboding

And soft

That I would like to give you

A nicname

But the only thing that came to mind

Was that memory

Of a house crumbling

Beneath a heavy weight.

•May 20, 2015 • Leave a Comment

cori storb

fluids that do not move turn to poison

water that sits stagnant rots

blood browns and loses all life

unshed tears harden in the throat

feelings sit in the chest and press and press

feelings that do not move turn poison

•March 24, 2015 • Leave a Comment

I’m very bad at goodbyes, I rarely read the ending of the story, I often fail to finish the things I start, So you and I shall just have to love one another forever. Ok? Because I don’t shall never be done with you.

•March 24, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Sometimes I try to write something good, but all the words come out as pretzels, all twisted and brittle.

Writing feels like my most tenuous talent. Not something I can summon, but more like a spark I wait patiently and impatiently for. Scribbling pretzels page to page, waiting for a full fledged meal to come out, something to nourish and satisfy.

What is the goddess of eloquence? The deity of perfect word placement? I will pray to you. Bleed my ink at your alter. I’ll burn my best letters for you.

I would like to say something meaningful. I would like to mean something. I would like someone else to feel a feeling from something I have made. I can not yell very loud. I can not sing. I can only hope to quietly cast the perfect words forth and hope these ordinary words, in such arrangement, form a magic spell.

I would like to catch the precious thoughts before they pop like soap bubbles. Just now, I felt one, a good one, a good idea brush past my forehead, I felt the flutter of its wispy fabric. It is gone now. This is all I have.

cori storb photography

•February 27, 2015 • Leave a Comment


Do you know what the difference between humans and animals is? Animals can sleep anywhere on the earth they please, they just fold their wings and tuck their tails and away they go; but when I try to find a little patch of earth to lay my head, there is inevitably some person with the authority of a flashlight (or an occasional badge) that says, “You can not sleep here.” And me and my teddy bear look forlorn, and it still doesn’t matter.

Oh humans, why have we grabbed all the horizontal surfaces and covered them with flags and fences and concrete? I would like to sleep on this earth but you won’t let me. I cannot think of a less offensive, bothersome act than sleeping – yet we shoo away all the people without beds from this firm ground that no one else was using anyway.

“I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.” here here, Sylvia Plath, I want that too. For everyone who still has a bit of animal in them and dreams their best dreams upon the moss.

•November 17, 2014 • Leave a Comment

There is a slowness, the seems to come with wisdom,

and you grow wiser, slower, larger.

The elephant that never forgets, with its heavy slow footsteps, the blue whale that is never lost with its great falling tail, the red wood trees that never stray, standing so straight strong and true, the big drifting clouds that know to always change, and the strong deliberate mountains that over millions of careful years of reaching upward come to rest in their most glorious state.

•November 17, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Some of the most exquisite dances of my life have been the moments we hold each other – perfectly still –¬†for hours. Feeling our bodies passing the exhale back and forth in perfect synchronized rhythm.

And my mind is clear glass quiet
And my heart is loud, leap leaping higher than the legs ever could.
And our foreheads rest solid and our nose tips sit lightly and our lungs fill each other’s empty spaces and our bellies are soft together and our hips are strong and our thighs make the slightest space for each other while our toes still say ‘closeness’.

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