sometimes everything isn't much

fingers fumble on the spine of my heart
embossed letters worn to silence
a book cursed to forget.
the quiet dust of useless words
fall into my hands,
an offering of nothing

a stint of faith

fingers worm their way
into blood warm sand,
roots looking for a ghost
in the skin of the earth.
Already on my knees
I might as well pray.
The sparseness of life,
a modest chaos of
background noise, the
slightest chance to be heard.
the hard edge of hope
pulls from the flesh
a small offering of willful bleeding,
moisture to the desert,
so the ears of a dry god
may bloom in this night.

adrift

pull the shades on the
stars watery eyes
while the last blink of the
moon falls into the horizon.
let the darkness flow through an
ocean of breath.
a truth that eyes can not see,
blindness unknown to hands on
the map of flesh and
the whispered breeze of hair.
boundaries lost, free in the void
we find each other.

thirst 1 and 2

1
weary hands pull threads
from under a rug of skin,
silk free to find the wind
or small iron rivers.
the certain thirst of oceans,
why is a mother always involved?


2
the drought of my heart
shrivels hope like the
blast of an august sun.
brown grass, crazy
from the heat
raises hands in
prayer to a true blue sky.
I wait for the thirst
to end

blood is not so easy

you may notice the confluence of rivers

the loess filled glacier melt

and the green blue tributary of rain

a constantly moving crowd of fingers

contorting into one another.

there is no sentience in gravity but

all water moves

to the belly of the sea

IED

blood runs in hardwired corridors

branching tunnels terminating

in fingertip detonators seeking

lightening, a dire gravity.

packed in a chest full of last breaths

a heart molded of semtex

always counting down,

a readily improvised suicide