left

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




.

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




.

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




.

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




.