almost

The sprawl of you grew into the space between my lungs,
encompassing me like a ladder to somewhere else.
Evangelical and relentless I was incorporated.
Now I unfold the memory of your fingers
from the soft tissue between my ribs,
your hands rooted between the derelict
concrete footings of my chest.
But the rhythm couldn't hold
in the glare of the monstrous sun
or the fume filled refrigerated dimness
of a 400 sq foot shag carpeted temple
to nothing but a wide open promise.
The faded boom town neon sunsets
glow against the acres of empty asphalt,
struggling weeds glory in their eveningness.
lost in my ruin, free in the widening distance
between the last notes, a final rip in the silence of the wind




.

edges

I cannot find the good

of your hand. The scent

of your hair is lost

in the glare of the sun.

Underwhelmed

I turn in the slow

dance of the nights

dark tide, the embrace

of the departed and

a hunger that gnaws

at my edges,

sharpening me

for the glittering

death of stars. What is

the half-life of a photon?

.

liminal

I lie on my stomach

and stare at the dirt,

rolling over is the sky.

I am between two surfaces

I barely penetrate,

liminal in a wide place.

there is no perigee, the only hope

is for decay, but is there

comfort in continuance?

somewhere between here

and the infinite horizon I will shape

a container for the stones

left large enough to hold.

ignored by a sea who

became a ghost too soon

.