Last week was a dog bite, this week was worse. Fuck.
Last week was a dog bite, this week was worse. Fuck.
To my queen
who solemnly
holds my heart
and head in her
lap, serene
may you cradle
me gently as I
rock to sleep,
for my dreams
be wicked and
my hands unclean.
May your hands
glide down my
wrinkled brow,
may your lips
lay gently on
my pocked cheek,
Though I pray not
to be needy I
do hope you can see,
that for peace to
grow and take hold
of me, it is you
the angel whose
verse is plain
the myth I’ve met,
sung of in tales
and poems but
only once made true,
that I need to hold
my head. Though
my skin be rigid
and my blood be thick,
though my nose be
bloodied and my tongue
be swift,
may you forgive me
for all my misdeeds,
and may you kiss me,
so gently to sleep
I carry on
though weary and withering
under scrutiny
of the sun
adrift betwixt clouds,
cast effortlessly through
the winds of winter
biting the hairs from
my chin,
Knowing only on the other
side of the sky
when I press my face
through sweat
and shame,
your cheek will meet
mine, rub and release
ran to wash
the stains away
I spent an evening
watching liars lie
to one another,
but in their heads
guessing which
breath of whiskey
was true,
for in every story told
and every exaggeration
so carefully claimed,
there hides a face,
of the lost and wistful imp
that misses its dear
innocence.
Upon the wharf
the splinters and knots
of wood in may,
I lay;
A thousand sails flutter by
through the eye of the
sun strung up on the
horizon;
but by her wrists.
Towards her heart
they swim, oars cutting
across the spines of waves
bleeding foam.
I hear her scream out
the colors of dusk, the
elegant hues of the day
that dies
I stare on as she recedes
down through the darkness,
a thousand sails speeding
to catch her
I stare on as she fades,
I do not blink I do not breathe
I do not care;
she dies, and
I politely sit there,
perched on the wharf
on the wood of mid may.
All in good time,
the leaves will fall
the sun will rise
and all will come alive
again
But lately I haven’t
measured my time
as good or bad
but simply as well spent
So when will the holes in
my wallet replenish?
When I am frugal with life
and less concerned with
how I live it
but rather when?
I pulled back the covers
and saw you had gone,
not out the door
nor through the window
not down the hall
I thought to myself
could it be another
dream? I look beside
the bed and see
nothing but black
oceans and smirking
fishes swimming in
fuzzy eyes
Floorboards pressed
like tongues to teeth
dust perched atop,
carpet stained tossed
and tousled, the hair
on my chest, I forgot
I’m growing older,
growing older I should
know by now,
crawling to bed next to
what’s dead won’t
make them stop,
I fluffed my pillow
plucked a feather and
scribbled your name,
down my wrist down the chin
each letter dripped,
I had hoped and prayed
that you might just return
But I realize now you were
never mine to mold,
I could not pressure
could not measure
held no bearing in your heart
I mattered when it mattered
to have a friend,
But now I see you for what
you are, the darkest day
of sleepless nights
I dare not recall,
A memory of time forgotten,
chased through dreams
to a dying garden,
cornered by a headstone
and the header,
a signed and stamped
resignation letter,
that I have lost my grip and
any meaning to your movement
You are now what I never believed
a person could be,
gone but here to stay,
changed but in the same way,
nothing like I knew a hollow
and vaporous whisper
of what you could have beem.
I am a man of utter uncertainty
who utters uncertain things
uncertainly;
with the privilege of an acutely
tuned vocabulary that enhances
my ability to say absolutely
nothing
in a few or more volumes.
I tremor before I whisper,
I break before I bellow,
but no matter the volume
and despite the rhyme
I find myself characterizing time
spent breathing in the words
to be breathed out as
“positive living”
For I as finely honed
and adroitly trained
at forgetting my purpose,
still parrot the sounds my
mother made from behind
the belly.
Uncertainly, I mumble the
gentle thump of kicks and
punches, the delicate purge
of morning sickness, and
the coo of a bubbling stomach;
I promise that this has meant nothing,
as a reflection of what I think
and a carbon copy of what was felt
when writing this
waste of a memory
I considered passing this thought over,
I contemplated setting the pen down.
I even thought I might do you a favor
and keep my mind silent
But I didn’t, for I forget
how uncertainty certainly dismantles
the will of a man who
thought he could have been good
at what he does
Maybe.
I watch you wash away
through sand and sorrow and clay
down to the depths of pity
I watch you lay;
nothing, I do nothing
but watch as you fade
into poured whiskey
and crisp ash
Those with the strongest sense of morality come down hardest on themselves. Though certainly strong judges of character, they lack the faith in themselves to pursue what they so ardently claim to be right.
Balance is key when finding your peace. Do not pull your skin so tightly you cannot move, but do not wear it so loose you spill out.
Peace be quick
when you find me,
I cannot not find
a moment exciting
when my mind is quiet
I ran to meet you
under a tree hanging
peaches by their tongues
The sun stuck like
candy to a white
blank page;
you were sweet
but cavities keep
kisses from me
Hairs translucent danced
above your lip,
swimming through
the saliva pooled
The light poked through
the scattering of leaves
I ran to meet you
under a tree bearing
the pits of dreams
hanging by their tongues
to dry until the sweet
suckle and flavor flood
drained
Charmed to be derided,
pleased to see my skin
chafe and peel; from a
tongue I hang though
not from a tree like the
peach under which we meet,
but under your eyes the
dimple in your cheeks;
you smile for me but
do not admit,
how slowly the sweetness
carves out your teeth
Arise from your slumber,
But do not open your eyes
hang the mind heavy to dry
and gaze into the absence;
Observe the quiet befallen,
the flowers hush shut
grass laying flat in submission
clouds scattered and scurrying
but not a single ray kissing
the ground
Feel the air sullen wrap its
tendrils ‘round your neck,
a viscous slime that drips from
chin to collarbone,
the grimly stiff wind that
coos a nightmare past your
ear, a whimpering mist
Hear the cries of dawn
crushed beneath the steady
hoof of darkness, the
scamper of feet sprinting
until the horizon ends,
an aging earth’s joints cracking
along the axis
Arise, demon forgotten,
witness your upheaval
Though innocent you lay
in linen, in dreams
the devil you shall be.
Your world and all you love
Aflame, your heart
And all you feel betrayed,
You are the damnation of your
Own doing, you are the
manifestation of your mistakes,
You are what heaven
forgot to mention.
I lust,
yet do not take.
I hunger,
yet do not eat.
I tire,
yet do not sleep.
I yearn,
yet do not weep,
for I temper my stomach
and I stitch shut my eyes
I struggle for discipline,
but find no relief,
for love has carried me off
from controlled creativity
to unhindered release
of all things petty and
pithy within me
I can’t help
but wonder how
many people have
looked at me
and said to
themselves:
is that it?
