Bed Of ClamsThere is a parallel world of conversation that never ventures past our lips. The dialogue consists of taboos of interaction that would only clamber off our dry tongues with an awkward clang; confronting lumps in our throats that we swallow back for fear of breaching a social boundary line etched by formality. Some truths are better not dealt with frankly, and frankly, better left unsaid.More Like This
So he watches. Glances. Stares. His sensitive scalpel eyes gravitate to her with addicted appreciation, flick away again, slide back for more; detecting her barely evident subtleties with deft perception. The neglected fall of hair that begs to be brushed back. The sharp gasp under her breath as she bumps what must be an injured thigh against the corner of the desk. The customary lift of her shadowed eyes to the window. The yawns that look like silent screams.
Her spirit is cursed with the beauty of a black rose among thorns. He knows she is like him, a different shape than the others. Something in her
GhostMy life is broken. I sleepwalk in circles,More Like This
measuring my failure to thrive
and counting lacunae that gape
aching in my chest, my appetites eaten
away by a malaise squirming
in my stomach, beneath my wilted lungs.
I was raised like a welt
and spoiled with band-aids.
Daddy Jekyll Father Hyde waltzes
one step forward two steps back
to the tune of break her wings one day
stretch her wings the next
and wonder why she limps and lags
behind the others.
My skin splits in hidden places
as I feign contortions of functioning,
while Im really handcuffed in the trunk
with my throat cut, listening to the traffic.
No one knows what became of me.
Forgotten, I forget myself
without an audience to animate me,
and winter haunts my dreams.
Static clouds my horizons
and all my candles blow out, one
by one: every hue of colour faded,
every last treasure tainted;
everything burns or bruises on all sides.
The flames in my sockets flicker,
now the dimmest twilight lamps;
my pupils are coals drawing shadow
MemorialsBack then I rememberMore Like This
my blood raced with virgin hunger
and I thought in terms of seeds, dreams, and clowns
in costume cocoons.
He and I spoke of ourselves as two jesters
removed from the pack;
The curtain never closed
but roses piled at my feet,
and I danced in forests in a circle of seven.
As the world fades, my pupils are possessed
by magnified visions of all that was,
as I engrave the last two memorials
with names that are lost to me now
She and I wove our first worlds
that we lived in together,
twin mystics with ink-stained hands.
She and I painted in black and blue together
and spoke diamonds and pearls,
the night sky our gallery.
Now the scene is stark,
I sleepwalk by way of some necromancy
through a wasteland of weeds, nightmares, and cobwebs
adorned with the dead petals
of withered smiles.
My next chapter was empty;
I paled until I evanesced into a ghost,
my coven riven by cancer.
One by one they all turned to the side.
Sometimes they spun,
facing me one day,
Friendship WarmthBright starsMore Like This
spinning round and round
we fall upon this moonlit path
Wild chantings of the heart
expressed in rhythmic stomping
upon steel-clad earth
With sticks held high
with no words
as we speak things of worth
and shed unseen tears
from times that made us
we gather closely
in this ice world
and we are not afraid.
World of FoolsWorld of FoolsMore Like This
"We are living in a world of fools, bringing us down, when they all should let us be.." -Bee Gees
Life is a lesson that we must learn
They say that we will come back if we fail
How many men in our world succeed?
Who can ever tell?
We think we should mingle with the common crowd
But they never paint or read poetry
They deride us from day to day
But they should let us be
I bring my lover to a small cafe
To enjoy her charm
Some ass walks into the place and shouts
He gave me a bloody alarm
What can such fools know of Romance?
Do they ever really love?
'T must be a secret not found on Earth
But kept in the sky above
At the age of 18, I wrote a tale
Most men thought that it was 'fair'
I mailed a copy to New Yorker Magazine
They never seemed to care
Rejections happen more than acceptances
At my current, ripe age now
I often fe
Paper People Don't Always Have Paper HeartsI get it now;More Like This
I was just another heart for you to break.
You just wanted to give me a reason
To write another poem about heartache.
(I guess you find an
Upset stomach kind of satisfaction
Out of pulling the tears from my eyes,
To put them on your ceiling,
Above your bed like stars,
So you can look up at them at night
And wonder what it's like on Mars,
And feel hopeful.)
Sometimes I want to imagine
That these bruises are still hickeys;
I make a constellation out of your "marks",
And I feel lonely in the way that I used to feel complete.
(I like to listen to sad music and watch sad movies
To remind myself
That it's not that fucking bad.
And it worked for a while.
Until I realized that
I could relate.)
The Squirrels and The MagpiesSquirrels scatter soils beneath treeMore Like This
trunks. They chase the branches
where Magpies meet.
Bushy tailed and frisky, squirrels
asunder leaves of seasons past,
scenting out paths
for tricky treasure trails,
for play; or survival lead astray.
Discarded wraps, dirty dated tabloids, cast aside;
pages, browned and crisp and creased,
once clung to earth's maps,
now fallen from their slender shelves,
from upwards and beyond mankind,
wearisome now. Tired growth of another year,
so trees let go of springs fresh efforts
and bask in cold depression.
Now we feel the hard polluted air.
Naked now, we feel the need to clothe
with lights and plastic.
A shameful disguise of what nature bares.
"How pretty" How patronising,
they shudder. Tacky décor
masks the ugly fate, created
with economies energy.
Dried disappointed tears, are the leaves,
smattering roads, people, busy
in their lives, drive by. Roads dressed
for timely death of nicer days they screech and groan:
impatient baiting from
You do not excite much anymoreYou don't excite much anymore I've seen.More Like This
You're too afraid to laugh and have it turned
To sorrow moments after you have been
Thrown off your guard. You're someone who's been burned.
The blunted affect sometimes seems so wise,
Like someone who considers before talk.
The thoughtful glance, the wan but knowing guise
You never run or skip but only walk.
I'm not for smearing all the feeling squish
Across my sleeve. But doesn't feeling rise
Sometimes and in that moment don't you wish
To tell, relieve your thoughts, give them surprise?
That's what I thought. You keep your counsel safe.
I'll never know your mind, the burn, the chafe.
Michigan summers.It is dusk and we are tired, or maybe this is the sunrise and we've been here all night, sharing stolen white rum and cigarettes and secrets. We lose time in this field in the hills, when our parents think we're sleeping but we are climbing too-tall trees and howling with coyotes and telling ourselves that tonight, we can be complete again. We are blood, this boy and I, we are natives in a sea of pilgrims and we do not yet speak their tongue; we are the dark eyed children who scream at night when they can no longer hear.More Like This
As our smoke clears, I tell him the names of every constellation my crippled mind can remember and he tells me that six hours away, a girl is pregnant and he doesn't love her. He sings me a song of our childhood, and I tell him what it's like to be in love when no one else can know. We forget we're too old for this, and cry along side the crickets while for one second, the world stops turning beneath us. In this moment, we can pretend we are eight again, sobbing over s
Life In Four PartsIMore Like This
Life springs forth from the fountain of the earth
Freshly sewn and freshly sprouted
And with eyes and arms outstretched toward the sky it says;
I look forward to meeting you"
Innocence sans eyes
Able to feel, yet unable to truly see the world
And it feeds on lies just as much as it does truth
Through the things that people put in its head
It feels numb
But it feels no different than it ever has
And thus it assumes normality
It eagerly anticipates responsibility
Not for the obligation, but for the power which it brings
Joyfully it accepts this responsibility in the form of choice
The sun shines warmly on the flourishing life the world has nurtured
With arms wide and eager for acceptance it excersizes power
It can almost feel itself growing
With arms and wings spread wide it proclaims;
"I love you, world"
It sits solemnly, still reeling
It never could have known
It never could have known the consequence that followed choice
It never could have p