ButcherMeat before your knifeSkinned and waiting to be slicedLeft danglingHoping you will cut me down instead of up.With strokes both careless and preciseThe blood - the blood that stains your knife
I would have given you my life,But you have taken more.
Rosemary For RemembranceHer hands in the waterShe re members the freck le s o n hisAs th e wo r d s d ra g h e rD ow n D O w nDOW nGet t he e to a n u n n er y
G E T T H E E T O A N U N N E R Y
BelovedI should be stronger for you Dear,Not dieing in the darkness here,Rotting from the inside outDevoured by my fear.I'de be a shining star for you,A broken satelliteBurning off her energyTo guide you through the night,But all I do is gaurd the gateAnd keep its doors thrown wideIn hopes you will return to meWhile darkness slips inside.And how it storms the parapetsAnd shakes my every stoneand echoes through my hallways,Child, you are so alone.You are waiting for a ghostthat will not come again.Nothing is outside your walls,And Nothings coming in.Are you a prisoner or a foolWho stays yet trembles so,Cloistered in these crubling wallsUnable to let go?For cowardice we mock you.Upon your strength we feed,And if you hear his cries outsideYou should not pay them heed,For they are nothing but the windThat whistles in the still,And if your house is empty,Then we are here to fill.And if your heart is heavy,Then we can take that too.There's lots of things
HindsiteDear- in the headlightsWe stood in the road unflinching.It's too late to pass the buck.
P.S.Swan feathers brushingPink lemonade stratosphere,Pallid moon mirroringA smeared staring sun,As Fenrir snarls and stretches,Slinking silently skyward.
CampsiteI do not mind the feeling of icy waterIn the morning on dry, chapped hands,The scrubbing of bowls and pots with sandIn the pale autumn light.These are the clean discomforts of life lived,And sun warmed stones and star soaked nights can make amends Say amen to the prayers that such days could last forever.But I am answered never never again.And there the knife sinks deepAs the past is waked from sleep,Defiant and pounding its fists in anger But the leaves of today leave concern from their color,As bright with me as without they do not dignify my dolorWith pity for the memoryOf what makes one day full and one day empty."Fool," they say "All things must die in time,"And so I stand stripped bare beneath the sky,Inhaling wood smoke wafting in the wind,And feel all Nature's life come to an end.
ElenaElena followed me homefrom work one nightand stayed for tea and eggs,and all that minimum wageand wars between the sheetscould bring.She said she was a goddess,daughter of a carpenterwith her long red, red hairand eyes as warm as hazel nutson Christmas morning.Her hands spoke brailleacross my backand made the silenceof Sunday into a prophecy.She left one Octoberjust like she said she wouldwhen the fireflieshad turned their wings to ash.And I found revelationin red, red wineand cheap red, red fabricthat came off in my handslike summer.
there's something fatal about coughing up verse.i got written up for writing poetry on the desksat school.i don't think they liked the language i usedwhen i wrote how my heart was beatinglike headboards against the walls of people fuckingat 3 am to the sounds of joy divisionwhenever you read me paintings at dawn.they were going to send me to the counselor,but i said my therapist probably wouldn't like that,so they just let me go.but this saturday, when i'm cleaning lives off of every desk in school,i'll just be thinking how much i'd rather be sitting on your roofand laughing when we argue about rimbaudand sighing as we start to die.
renovationsmy mind looks at my bodyand says, "i don't like whatyou've done with the place."
WineHead on a patisserie tablewith a wine-scented napkinthat I scrawled your name all overin the hopes it might necromanceor just romance youto this place, at this time,so we could be together againand although the guitarist knowsthat I'm broken beyond blueI keep reaching for the bottlein the hopes it might recreateor just replicateyou.
the polar opposite of translucencycradled in the echoof a cloudburst,the earth curls invisible fingersabout my achilles' tendon& pulls;she cries that i am notintended for the clouds,that my mind must not wanderbetween their susurrous concavesso i,furious with her insistence,her petulance,untether myself from the soft,diaphonous comfort of the heavens& sink,down into the weight of gravity.listless green blades welcome my soles,stimulating a tickle,an itch,a sneeze; i never have done wellwith nature,but oh,she is calling for me,soft-tongued and crisp in herown shadow,& i am sorely temptedbut no,no--i am not for the soil.lungs listless,she becomes my inhale;lightheaded& translucent,my alveoli shudderbeneath her force--i am not for the air, either.mellow-skinned,i stand beneath her onslaughtuntil she tires,her molten heart beating beneath my toes;unable to woo me with her facets,she pirouettes,cloaking me in one last attempt,a final shadow.my pores bloom& i r
I'm too poor to feel so middle class.My teeth still ache from the dentist,but it doesn’t stop me from nibblingthe cheese danish I bought at Krogerthis morning, warmed by thirtyseconds in the microwave. My mugof hot chocolate is too big, and Idrink it all. The washer is on its lastcycle; the cat is purring at my feet.Netflix is background noiseto clacking keys, typing a transcriptof middle class morning that I’ll latercall a poem or a turning point,wondering when I became such an adult.
to the ghosts with you, my deari came not to be kissed,or to have myself cradledin the curve of a throat,but to be broken,to be diminishedby your lack of affection& over indulgence of sexualization.but i,uneducated in your intent,found myself left entirely whole& incapable of the furyi had sought to sow between theridges of my aching ribs.
muddy waterthe sun rises late now. or hardly ever. or belligerent carmine on the underbellies of plants.a shot of sleep to the head, a boxing glove punch.the metaphorical rooster crows with the awful clamour of its lonely breath. the thing is, i can substitute the body.the thing is, the slit is a fantastic shade of orange i saw god but he says you still need to get a fucking jobthe thing is, i am bathtub water and rotten leaves.and the taste of power on the morning wind, a wet newspaperwith the headlines of a presidential divorce.there is power in the young eagle hissing at passersby from its trashcan throne.i know one thing:
AgainAnother dayA new beginningAnother nightThe same nightmare
Drink'n it DownGlub Glub.Drink it down.Half Full.Half Empty.Gone.VodkaWhiskeyGin and RumTequilaBeer and wineLoss comes in many flavors.We come in many flavors.Life - It drinks us down.And we'reHalf fullHalf emptyGone