Sunday, November 15, 2015

In order to say goodnight

I used to think of ways to die
to see the ones I wanted, 
their faces of regret;
maybe a kind hand reaching out
as my body fell to the ground.

This approach no longer works
as there is no string left to pull,
no faces left to picture;
now my future is my lullaby,
all its deep-shadowed nothingness.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Things Falling from Shelves

There is no way to read a calendar,
one without neatly plotted squares of dates;
No month as header, nor year to track

Blanks on paper, unwritten appointments;
Untallied time spent on scheduled tasks

We live in flux, in vague hand gestures
And inside each head a lifetime lives

In a single inhale of wintry cold, the emptiness of its smell,
I recall mortuary calls and one-person beds;
No other person knows these secrets of December.

Monday, June 23, 2014

The Brain as a Harbinger

this gnarl of darkened

synapse and quickened cell

ensure my remaining

a sparrow of all rooms

Saturday, June 21, 2014

It's the Set of Your Shoulders

I can't stand
not from behind
the scenes as I am anymore
the silence in my apartment
only words spoken to cats
you used to pet but
the last time you
came over they just
got sick at your feet
I am vomiting screams
that echo nowhere
but my sternum
empty of equilibrium
I create situations now
where I always stand
in the front just so I can
run if their shoulders
seem to square like yours

Monday, April 7, 2014

Tomorrow is All Horizon, So Where Does the Hammock Go?

I saw the sun filtered through
delicate green webbing of veins
ringlet circle whorls golden grain
blue peeking like children
whose giggles were berry 
sweets soon-to-be
hanging just within reach

Taken from the branches
I am teaming with self
tendrils of me rise in curls
it is a meadow resounding
this place with no trees
vast is the plain the veldt
rolling ever outward

Grasses for years
dirt to kick about
I have no to-be
left to climb

An Authentic Piece of Taxidermy Will Have No Seams

Prologue


Every beat a velcro rip-tearing

mind-soft whispers to myself

this does not matter this

is not spilled blood

---


Chapters


Every beat a velcro rip-tearing

mind-soft whispers to the self

this is not breathing this

is sewered closed-eyed

sighs of were-there


Sticky with edges to sink

little barbs of backing up

cannot-will not-could I 

ease stranglehold thick

beneath the collarbone


A series of chemicals sit

flush with red and grey

an orange would be

at once too piercing

and yellow a farce


Feet imprinted gravel

knees know secrets of 

dust of forgotten change

gleaming sickly of moonlight

and no goddesses there


Science be a savior

find organs to be muscle

observe colors to be refraction

bring the sum of numbers

echoing no memories


There the beat to pound again

merely reflex nothing to note

certainly no spurs of bone

born in the mind and no tendon

bound to the sternum of me


Monday, March 17, 2014

My Central Facility, and Our Sex

Posted under bedrock
that blackly gleaming mass
organic and fragile
tucked between bone slivers
singing tightened nerves
helium of a balloon floating
I wish to tell you in whispers
next time please go slowly


Sunday, March 16, 2014

At Things For Which We Have No Name

I excel; the blindspace of mind wherein
we write our papers, have conversations -
that particular knack for no brainstream
of thought before the words tumble out;

the peculiar nature of driving forever past
an intended destination, the loving glance
at a painting while thinking of the past -
a feeling of magnum opus for the well-written

words on a page to exemplify a growth;
herein after we are never the same - I
am the writer of such things, if only within
my own mind: I do embody the wordless.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

We Imagine Ourselves Soldiers

Destroyers of bridges we lean
too much to the water
wishing for riptides
knowing we have
no life jackets.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

I Watched from My Desk

I initiated this
conversation;
can you see them
in your aging faces,
where is the ghost
of your parents?
I sat and listened
as two women
slowly derailed into
stories of college-ja vu
and the sag of necks.
I will never understand
the moments of
my stance is like hers
my jaw droops like his.
They are forever in time 
smooth of skin, they
who aren't them at all
the ghost of my face
but the ghosts of them.