aren't you guilty of our galaxy aren't you staring down the mouth of it aren't you sad for me aren't you keeping under wing aren't you tired of the dance aren't you wishing for existence more than this aren't I ?
the countryside is outside her bedroom
the lean curved slice is her nocturnal god
the candlesticks kneel slow
she reached this place in a panic
and is catching her breath
in the yawn of the wind
in the rustle of brush
full of life
visiting hours are permanently over. goodbyes by voice mail goodbyes by cassette tape or too late for tangible correspondence; now by way of desperate prayer the gasp then, to heaven when hope collapses, the interrupted hallelujah, and all the sacrilege in that silence. transient transforms into endless quarantine -- isolation by the veil of death.
I hold your hand in a field -- midday, our skirts long and full and cumbersome. we're far from the male gaze. our skin is warm from the heat of the day or maybe our closeness -- my breath melding with your breath in a curious, invisible dance. you look away, cheeks blooming but I know this is a voluntary pause to keep from being overwhelmed and I grasp your chin to turn your face to love, finally, to kiss, finally, to live.
I still think of you sometimes In the way of 3 am conversations In the way of cathartic poetry spoken soft and easy into our secret atmosphere a bundle of comforters between screens I remember the safety of distance and the ache of our emotional proximity the travesty of platonicity, unmatched love I was too lonely even for you desperate at once alluring, attractive and then the mystery unraveled a scenic route to a cul-de-sac. but you wished me such happiness! without the romance of your specific attention and so well-meaning your voice, offered to soothe, only serving to deepen my insomnia yes, I still think of you often which is why I can’t sleep
the hard betrayal by your soft hands exposed me. and the door wouldn’t close, no matter how hard you pushed, how you held against the onslaught of my pandora’s, and how your irises shattered. oh you thought in love and in relationship were the same inebriation? a foolish fantasy on your part, on mine, a cute naivety or an Achilles heel, by any other name -- call it the killing spade the shallow banks fill with coins fallen from your eyes, from your mouth because maybe you can swim so far and fast away from it -- but the river is wide.
the full night sky
is starkly true
we are rather lost
with our wine mouths
the not so careful courage
get the torches
for twice the hell:
in the moment
and when the memory
that exoteric journey
the universal embarrassment
of falling too hard
why did I fixate on the dead beetle
its pearlescent green body shimmering
in spite of the dull asphalt
never having wondered at a dead fly
curled on a windowsill or a spider
small, uninteresting, hairy, and black
killed as it crawled toward me --
the trudge across my desk less like
an attack and more like a journey
an exploration, on retrospection
harmless, lonely even
but I miss the life of the beetle
I mourn it -- a shade casts
upon my countenance
at the sight of this gone thing
lying on its side
as if to sleep for a moment
only to be stolen away
by a failing heart maybe
where are the obituaries
for the worms flooded
from their homes
on the porch
in the warm
bundle of august,
a spider made its web.
round and round it went,
it spun. determined.
at an angle just so,
you'd see it climb
right into the blue
and clouded sky.
the veneer is
smooth and matte.
when you say
with wooden cadence,
it is no longer worth pursuing.
we are not. or me. I am not.
nothing in your manner splinters.
yet it is so painful,
how you lodge into my skin;
how you are lodged, festering.
I don't know why I ever loved you;
as if it could be reasoned.
and I nearly disappear completely.
it all comes down
to when you choose to exist;
when between the pause in small talk
the drama of you turning away
my dying gesture, to touch your hand
your sentimental lips pull apart to split me
to let me go
but it could never be gentle.
and I fight it.
when your reply is silence
imagine the ocean waves collapsing
to motionless glass, the fish and dolphins
the whales slow float to the surface,
when you finally say goodbye
imagine the birds falling from the sky
their feathered bodies plummeting to earth
their startled cry, a chorus
when you walk away
imagine being pulled in reverse
like a slingshot forever, without release forward
pinched at the back, curved over, gutted
and yanked through the m
on southern grounds, seven mothers before me lay birds and bricks and peppermint sticks under storm lights and cold water. like some unwatched wick i broke and bore, a midnight doorbell, a snake in a letterbox the maddening answer to prayer. the witch in glass wind cycles shuttled me awake in a warbling pitch no one could remember and i was birthed, pawing out of webs and mud cradled in blotting clay and favourable spaces.
in the ruins of your old house there you feel free
in the ruins of your old house there you feel free
i remember nothing except it ended on a soft note. like punching onto cotton. candy. (it made a sweet, muffled sound. &) stickily. wound its way to suffocating. (silence.) one scene cut out from rolls upon rolls of old film. just one (it started out) swift lapse, (pause), at first, graced with dull scissors. then we burned down the storage-house. i lit the match & I remember (this i remember) the dry wind, the heat, scorching my cheeks as if I were about to melt also (from the inside out) but you said, (hold on tight.) clammy cold palms pressed against each other, a scream whittled out of me, less exhilaration than fear the wet air from my open mouth spun around me like a silk thread (torn from a cocoon and I, the dead pupa) but if I were no longer human I would prefer swifter movement, paws and fur. in my past nine consecutive deaths, seven were carried out by streamlined vehicles of civilization. in my last I stared full in the sun, consequentially making the dried stones
sometimes, i wonder where to look, when i need to stop for my life, i look the other way, hearing your voice, i pause for effect, as if you are looking, waiting for me on the other side, or up in a house, where i am scared, one day, i will find you, hoarding visitors, late into the night, to fill the emptiness in the room, scared, the old key won't fit into the lock, where i am, panic coils itself around fear, and sadness buries a gun, under a convent, where white is a habit, songs are forbidden, like the blues, and people leave their past behind, their scent lingers, like smoke and rain, fog and mist, you see all over the place, even in a space as tight as a fist, in my heart
dark the face of this mass, solid, immoveable block, there is a thin break like silver light, as if waiting to rest or drown in the languid thick of things, melted gold, silver, brass, the candle-smoke, the waking fire, it burns in your eyes, not that your eyes are pared down to smoldering green and brown, outside, the church-bell is missing, the world weeps, a snake slithering on the ground, the absent echo hurtles like ball-breaking in my mind, in my heart, there is nothing but the weather, the rest just slips away, to grief, time pendulums away suddenly, the dark and hollow, silence so deep you could die in it, no one and nothing but the rain, and the rain, too, oh, and there's just you
and when did we know the world could be this lush and full of thorns? as rich as thistle blossom milk as light as morning sun and if i’d never felt the wind before would i still know why the trees erupt into shivers shake themselves until they splinter like i am shaken pieces lost and crying out to faces watching behind glass asking why don’t you just stop dancing? . why does the wreckage leave us wishing to still be dark and small curled into places where the serpents sleep drinking venom but safe from storms . why does some smaller part of me believe i could go back from breathing color
Soul train to paradise Vigilante of mercy Merchant of abandoned dreams Tin can city satellite Ghost ships to the moon Shooting up the stars Powder coated tears on fire Angel in the spotlight Falling from grace Ten foot tall and bulletproof Buy me a kingdom paved with gold Sold out of love Cut down and made to march Cast aside and left to die And all that is left is an empty shell Like a landmine waiting to explode Scarecrow on the hill buried in the snow
all my roads are ruined
restrictions at every turn
the sky is murderous
churning clouds of poisonous red
once it was blue
and my mouth was full of words
i could speak, but now to whom
do i croak with a half lung
about my blistered, battered feet
i saw them move this time
the walls are closing in
unstuck from time and i
can no longer go back to you, to you, to you
my hope nestled on half a sigh