Uncategorized

On the chapped lips of lovers

Somewhere

Forgotten over time

A place that hurt

So terribly an ache

Felt like a fresh burn

Has been badly covered over

With paving stones uneven

Moss and lichen veiling crime

If someone decerning of pain

Saw

They’d immediately recognize

A broken, disturbed surface

Jagged and ill repaired

Lake without mirror

Time, a sad blessing

Where grief is concerned

What you thought you’d never recover from

Cut like totem in marrow’s deep

Doesn’t cease to be devastating

You simply forget the intensity

In order to not fall dead

The lessening is like laying a road, or putting up wallpaper

Layers and layers

You think it’s insulation

In many ways it works

Til something unexpected

Reminds you of how you really are

Behind all those layers

In all those crocheted boxes

Stored in denials, fickle womb

That pain you thought, softened

Is as strong as the day you first felt it

Love

Does not

Just whither up

And die

It twists blade upward

Unwilling, yet deftly

Cannibalizing those morsels

You thought most delicious

Til they become tormentor

Even licking fire, preferable

Than one minute more

The scathing and seal

Of pacts

Made in silent war

Where nothing is said

Hate and love, inside out versions

Of the same, mad drum

Beating relentless

Till one falls, one stays standing

Panting in flickering light

Of damage, desult and sate

On the chapped lips of lovers

Wicked in their apportioned

Vengance

Advertisements
Standard
Uncategorized

Live again

The day I stopped feeling

It wasn’t a tap turned all the way to halt any drip

or wet socks left on radiator until cardboard stiff

through muslin sheet I felt a wistfulness

like poignant ending of a film

or sad story of someone else’s life

but you did not feel part of me anymore

when I touched your hand, it was flesh and blood

not a girl I was connected to

neither stranger, but some

distance stood solid like forging tree limbs

seeking electric charge from rain after storm has passed

I had moved beyond you without

marking the spot, I put down my heartache

this is surely the most human thing about us

our ability to keep going, not fall down and wither

knowing we are finite and fallen

watch a child lose a friend on Friday

gain another come Monday

grief is a litmus test

a sorrow we shrug on and eventually off

I convinced myself of devastation

when Tuesday brings change even as we don’t seek

it comes drawing out like elongated stretch

I never thought

I’d feel nothing

looking into your eyes

but you closed yourself off

In time, I began to look away

Into the distance

where the unknown glistened

like a mirage

of things bidden

by places within us

that say

O please

live again

Standard
life, poetry, prosetry

The hands of the lost

Sometimes

You pick the sinking ship

Recognizing within

Carousel parts of

Your own visit on earth

There is much wrong

In repeating mistakes or

Returning to well worn habit

When outcomes have proven they are

Dead roads and broken boats

It is not that you are

A martyr

Or even a fool

You do not wish

To bring yourself lower

But if you imagine life

As a well worn stoop

And whom you should feel

Most comfortable sitting there with

Then you will fathom

The type who finds themselves

Supporting the broken-down and

The fractured

For the sheer honesty of their response

And that well earned familiar

That you have known over and over

In the apologetic eyes of your own

And that trembling hand teaching through time

Asking you to

Be patient with my mistakes

There is something

Comforting and real

In a flaw

When all the city lights try to attain pearly perfection

Something you’ve never related to

Another language for

Early risers without grime stains behind their ears

The kinds who are punctual and routine

And do not make shoddy excuses for

Why they cannot lift the weight of the world

From their shoulders

People who may

Go on to take office whilst you seek

To survive and advance by understanding

What keeps the world turning

Which

Can be discovered

In equal amount

From the hands of the lost

As those who are found

Standard
poetry, prosetry, Uncategorized

Empied of harm

Passion, you may feel it in obvious ways

How he leans in with his enveloping strength

Or, in the thunder of your chest, riding imaginary horses with your best friend

Forgetful of arithmetic and teachers who felt you’d end your days in borstel, because you did like running rings around them, didn’t you?

Regretting those petty rebellions later

Then in the crisp light and imagined stampede

Thrashing to the furthest point in your mind, bathed in fantasy

A place hard to reach, even splayed on cold Mexican tile, pretending your hand was his

Even, swimming underwater, until your lungs burned to surface

It was as if, once you grow up, the way back becomes harder

Like a secret language, only known to children, daunting you with reminder

The tree house of your neighbor, as you take the prescribed walk, your cardiologist insisted upon

The first rain lillies urging through Texan soil against all odds, their impossible fragility, an exquisite reprieve from cracked earth

Have you gone so far child? As to forget the combination? 

Here, where verbena and lemon grass, pummel air with magic 

Here, where you didn’t need anything, but the cupping of your hands, wonderment running through water, like you were born again and again, empied of harm 

Full of the vigor, of not knowing, the beaten path, to adulthood

Standard
life, poetry, prosetry

In delirium, in neglect

tumblr_mv8equ1m1o1rmig2po1_500

“I don’t want to hear a bloody THING about you, you’re a waste of silence, say nothing, speak no more”

“Not even to explain why?”

“Who cares why? What is the truth behind any why? It’s just a deck of cards, spilling into bath water after all, plug-in the radiator and throw it in, BANG BANG now we have something to talk about, electrocution, far more illuminating than fucking human problems … ”

“I want to tell you why I hate myself so much.”

“I don’t give a DAMN why you hate yourself. I’m GLAD you hate yourself.”

“Why are you so hateful?”

Hate, Hate, Hate. Because I’d rather drink lemonade. Because the world runs on it darling didn’t you know? Piss & vinegar inherited the earth.”

“I did know.”

“Then? Why the hell are you surprised?”

“I thought if you really tried you could communicate with someone, make them care. Make them understand. Get connected.”

“Who the fuck wants to understand someone else? We only want to understand when it’s too late, like after a massacre and probably not even then …”

“I want you to understand me.”

“I don’t care to understand you. I like sleeping with you. That’s all it is. The rest is filler. White noise.”

“Okay …”

Three nights pass uneventfully.

On the fourth.

She lit her fuse and shot right up into the sky, upon reaching the zenith she split apart, creating her own science.

All the words she couldn’t say, bottled up and labeled in her licorice heart, sticking together in delirium, in neglect, become infinity and star-dust.

Millions or billions of years pass …

One day after all that smoke they sit opposite on a scarred table with wonky legs.

“Do you want to know me?”

“Oh I want to know everything there is about you, even how it feels to be you.”

“Why?”

“Because you matter to me. Because I care.”

“Do you know why that is?”

“It’s just how I feel.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No it’s not just how you feel.”

“What then?”

“It’s because you are made of star-light and star-dust.”

“Well … sure … we all are.”

“Yes. Yes we are.”

 

(Image: http://www.tumblr_mv8equ1m1o1rmig2po1_500)

Standard