I hold my fingers
in the flame, 
but the iron
will not take form.
The hammer blows
only steal resolve.
This deformity is crude,
I no longer fit inside you.
My knives are slick
but they will not sharpen
your wounds or cut
the sky into shade.

.

I feel the siren’s knives whisper
behind my back. If I close
one eye will I still be looking
for you? I am ready to go
down with the ship;
there is grace in the
pounding of the sea.
Whose anchor are you tied to?
Will it slip when the storm
shakes the dead. I am
only breathing while the
rocks gather strength.

.

I can’t promise I’ll ever finish
anything but I want to fill
my edges with a fine filigree
of remorse. Repeat after me.
Wait. Hold the silence close,
closer than the love of a razor
or the silvered breath of memory.
I know you want soft words
almost monochromatic, almost kind.
Soon you’ll realize I am in your way.

.

The moon is brighter

than something I want
to look at. I’m sure I am
missing the point.
On the bus to Longview
the horizon crouches
heavy, the muscled patience
of a predator. The weight of
your hamstring curving
into temptation. If I didn’t need
a cigarette there would
be only you.

.