I
was clear water
an
easy tongue swallowing.
a
river consumed,
I
am consumed.
the
depth is a lie no
darker
than the surface.
solid,
refusing refraction,
no
wrist will break
or
fingers touch what
I
accept
.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Thursday, June 27, 2013
lot
in
a razor bladed
surgery I have bled rank
expressions of desire.
iron stained branches
ripped from the bones
of drought, the supplication
of tributaries wasted with
last words thrown
at pillars of salt
.
surgery I have bled rank
expressions of desire.
iron stained branches
ripped from the bones
of drought, the supplication
of tributaries wasted with
last words thrown
at pillars of salt
.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
strangling
as I settle back into myself there
are no ripples to disturb, the hardness
of absence has nothing to do with me,
I lack even that. the gray deformity
of disappointment settles into static
layering into the stratigraphy with
all the empty yellowed dawns,
memories wilted in situ.
the listless spiral of fingertips
half drunk in the lack of atmosphere,
oxygen wasted to keep cigarettes lit.
this is all
.
are no ripples to disturb, the hardness
of absence has nothing to do with me,
I lack even that. the gray deformity
of disappointment settles into static
layering into the stratigraphy with
all the empty yellowed dawns,
memories wilted in situ.
the listless spiral of fingertips
half drunk in the lack of atmosphere,
oxygen wasted to keep cigarettes lit.
this is all
.
Friday, June 14, 2013
pretend
the slowly knotted ribbons of weather
have pulled tight the years. let's pretend
we are not used to this forever, that blood
is still red. I would make the lie tangible
and write my name in the frost flowers
that have grown in the corners of your eyes.
a last spark from a rusted steel, a flame that
will never find another season
.
have pulled tight the years. let's pretend
we are not used to this forever, that blood
is still red. I would make the lie tangible
and write my name in the frost flowers
that have grown in the corners of your eyes.
a last spark from a rusted steel, a flame that
will never find another season
.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
debt
desire empties itself into me, sparks
dying, the blue streak of burned retinas
and caloric debt. I may be living but
what am I living on; all the weight of
this emptiness? I am trying to forget
the blood trail of dead languages, tongues
lost between the lines, words
strung-out, snagged on the wire
.
dying, the blue streak of burned retinas
and caloric debt. I may be living but
what am I living on; all the weight of
this emptiness? I am trying to forget
the blood trail of dead languages, tongues
lost between the lines, words
strung-out, snagged on the wire
.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
morning
I have opened the curtains
to let the bleary morning light in.
the room sorts itself into soft
myopic ghosts and mold edged
shadows of indefinite darkness.
I close my eyes returning
everything to its place even you
.
to let the bleary morning light in.
the room sorts itself into soft
myopic ghosts and mold edged
shadows of indefinite darkness.
I close my eyes returning
everything to its place even you
.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
reaped
in pity I sow the salt over my left shoulder,
rubbing it into floorboards with shuffling feet.
the desiccated corners curling to meet me.
I cannot help but trace the truncated curves,
the swollen hips of felled trees. Seeking paths
remembered on maps never committed to ink.
a palmistry of a defeated destiny
.
rubbing it into floorboards with shuffling feet.
the desiccated corners curling to meet me.
I cannot help but trace the truncated curves,
the swollen hips of felled trees. Seeking paths
remembered on maps never committed to ink.
a palmistry of a defeated destiny
.
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