Dear Baltimore Child: A Postmortem GhazalMy dear Baltimore child,More Like This
dear tale-told heart, gin-joint king,
Winter is colorless without you,
all white and dead.
I miss the boldness of your black,
I miss the color red.
I wear your favorite color, grieve,
though we were never wed.
My dark, distant poet,
dreaming evermore in red.
Annabel Lee should have been written
for me, instead;
She was white winter-stale,
and I am bright summer-red.
I watched winter take your soul,
watched the frost in your lungs spread.
You can be no lover now,
drained of all your blood, your red.
You are colored, still,
blue and beautiful and dead.
But I cannot warm your body with mine,
cannot give to you my red.
I have tried to wake you with kisses,
tried to make us a wedding bed
In your tomb in the city by the sea,
Surrounded By Dry LandIt is not mountains or cities that you will find in her heart,More Like This
but the deep, dark, depths of the ocean.
Her first language is temptation;
she speaks it fluidly,
but she never can be won
for her heart belongs to the tides.
Many have tried;
but no lover's arms can compete
with the swell
that washes her clean, clean, clean.
Dirt can be rinsed out,
but stains remain
that pull her down
to the only place
where she has ever felt
Vomit and SinewI stopped knowing you when I found him.More Like This
You faded so far into the background I’ve nearly forgotten your face,
and now I wonder what you ever really meant to me.
You were once all that mattered.
All that gave me solace in a world of darkness I never understood back then..
And I was so certain of you.
So painfully certain you were the melody my soul was dying to play.
That song with its tender nuances, and delicate notes of pain.
Though your pain is so close to elegance I find it startlingly beautiful.
Like a swan slowly bleeding to death.
Where right from the beginning, he reminded me of a wolf.
Baring its teeth as its body decomposes.
Rotting while still alive.
Snarling with rage and hopelessness that has haunted me ever since..
While my memories of you manifest as something only quietly sad.
Distant and forgettable.
He prods at corners so dark I never knew they existed.
He drags demons and skeletons out of closets just to make love to them.
He entwines himself with images