the beginning of the end of fruitless relationships

To whom it may concern:

I write to you on this gorgeous autumn morning with great heaviness on my heart.

Every once in a blue moon i ask my mom to buy Apple Jacks, each time hoping that they'll taste different. This disappointing process of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, as we all know, is the very definition of insanity.

I have finally decided to go straight to the source (which i'm left to assume is the receiver of this message) to express my concern regarding this incongruous cereal.

Apple Jacks do not taste like apples. Not even a little bit. Of course, this is not news to the company; in fact, Kelloggs makes a point of it in their commercials (which, i might add, the general public have always found incredibly annoying):

Dad: "Why do you kids like Apple Jacks if they don't taste like apples?"

Kids (looking at Dad as though he's the dumbest thing to walk past them since Mr. Potato Head): "We just do!" (followed by a chorus of laughter like they've just said something incredibly clever)

I don't get it. Am i missing something? Why would you deliberately give a cereal a name that is completely contradictory to its characteristics? Rice Krispies...Froot Loops...Frosted Flakes...all of these make sense. Apple Jacks? What's the story here? Perhaps they should have been named Cinnamon Jacks, because that's the only flavor i've ever tasted. By the way, i counted this morning and there were roughly 10 green jacks to every 50 orange ones. So once again, what's the story here?

Another thing i'd love to see change is the sugar content. Don't get me wrong, i'm all for sugar, but when my milk starts turning into sweet sludge that leaves me feeling sick after one bowl of cereal (which i MIGHT be able to overlook if it actually tasted like apples)...my morning is ruined, and i want to burn my box of half-eaten Apple Jacks and vow never to buy another box again.

I want to like Apple Jacks. I really do. But i'm looking at my history with Apple Jacks and looking at all the other cereals that have never let me down, or at least have improved over time, and i'm thinking this may be the end of our fruitless relationship - literally.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I humbly await your response and will remain hopeful until then.

Audrey

lonely house

fine dust settles over the room, like a snowfall at dusk. and somewhere, a baby sighs. her shadow bathing in the moonlight, there in the snowfall at dusk. and somewhere, a fire dies.

(the spark in her eyes is fading fast as they trail about the room, a stranger to its guise.)

hello, hello. is there anyone home? here in this lonely house. a whisper, a groan - anything not to feel alone. here in this lonely house.

white sheets draped over the room, like a snowdrift at dusk. in her mind, just a reprise. black and white photographs stare, there in the snowdrift at dusk. faces she can't recognize.

(the spark in her eyes is fading fast as they trail about the room, a stranger to its guise.)

hello, hello. is there anyone home? here in this lonely house. a whisper, a groan - anything not to feel alone. here in this lonely house.

(the spark in her eyes is growing fast as the vague comes into view, a visceral sign of life. fling the windows wide. let the sun pour in and the warm wind blow on through, nothing left to hide.)

hello! hello! were you always home? here in this lonely house. stuck in the unknown. i'm tired of feeling alone. here in this lonely house. but now i know that you are my home. no matter what lonely house. in your arms i'm shown that i will never be alone. here in this lonely house.

the stray

under the crabtree
there is a stray dog
licking his wounds up
against the grain of his matted hair
and for the back leg that lags
his bent tail sadly wags
in accord with the mites that are hiding there
an unwavering eye
for any man that dares try
to reach out and steal his pride away
the little girl withdraws her hand
at her mother's reprimand
a stern warning, "don't touch the stray"

under the fire escape
there is a blind man
licking his wounds up
keeping warm against the garbage cans
and for the eyes that don't see
his ears acutely listening
for wolves that will bite at his outstretched hand
still unwaveringly spry
for any man that dares try
rob his mind and steal his pride away
the little girl withdraws her hand
at her mother's reprimand
in disgust now, "don't touch the stray"

under the manger scene
there is a lost son
licking his wounds up
at the end of a bottle tonight
and for the heart that's broke
there is a veil of smoke
to help him cope as he runs another red light
these unwavering lies
for any man that dares to try
to break down walls and steal his pride away
the little girl withdraws her hand
at her mother's reprimand
"for God's sake, daughter, don't touch the stray"

black widow

sitting at the right hand in her
flickering wicker chair,
rocking...rocking...ashes in her hair.
wisps like fog curling out from under
the hood that plunders the good from getting there.
eyes like flies glowing in the pitch
with every stitch they twitch,
steel blue true to the icicles left by the storm
in the dead of winter.
left by the dead.
they splinter and wretch as the fetching dog barks
and her needles spark as they
click...click...endless black yarn
splitting, knitting, another nightmare
another nightmare
beneath the wicker chair that never stops.
woven webs securing the ebb of rest,
a trove of nests for heavy laden eyes
that harbor cries lost to the fell.
a silent hell.
the silent bells rung by the lost soul,
dragging his chains in search for his whole,
hollow eyes like hollow skies
dripping upwards with hollow sighs
vacant he stares with his lips that were kissed
by the icicles left where the oxygen's missed.
no resistance.
for the mind is her playground, and you were lost there.
it's too bad she found you beneath her wicker chair.
shivering, quivering, under her stair.
she has knit you a blanket which you now must wear.

abandon

hollow eyes like hollow skies
are dripping upwards with hollow sighs
that die on the lips where the oxygen's missed
passing over, beyond, gone.
and another one leaves.
the whisper of trees and the chill in the air
remind her, find her, strip her bare.
what once she loved she now despises.
surprises are wasted on those who don't care.
a tarnished soul, restless, reckless...
festering scars on innocent skin.
it comes from within, and it starts with a break,
and it moves like a snake,
and another one leaves.
following trails like following wind.
the journey never justifies the end.
tie her up! untie her!
she's a wildfire that burns at the touch.
but she won't feel much where it counts anymore.
she's been savagely ravaged
and another one leaves.
and out on the seas, her fault lies unconscious,
buried and breathing like a skeleton closet.
she thought she lost it.
(still naive after all these years.
after all these tears, some wasted, some tasted.
they fall like the stars)
and another one leaves.
wallow in feelings that wallow in vain.
her hardened heart will numb the pain.
let it go, give it up, let the end begin.
with no one make friends and never be lonely.
hate yourself only and your face will find favor.
this is all she believes.
and another one leaves.
now all that she sees is the only problem with this theory
which leaves her weary and keeps her in line
is that it does nothing in serving its purpose
for no one remains at the end of the night.
all her remains spill out in the moonlight.
the pools take flight,
and another one leaves.
she swallows the wings that swallow what stings
and hopes they will beat for the heart that cannot,
stirring up a wind that will help her ascend,
dripping upwards where hollow sighs get caught.
drawn like a tourniquet after the dawn.
passing over, beyond, gone.
and another one leaves.