"Legend been told,
'long as men been countin'
'bout many a fool.
Comin' down to gold mountain.
Diggin' up coal,
gems, ore and oil fountains,
'yes, many a spoil.
Hidin' down in the mountain.
picks and hammers poundin'
tunnels and shafts.
each day is the learning to be human.
a low note graceful and hungry in my throat,
to eat of visions, of love lined in undereye black.
somewhere, i am nazareth; fallen
on my eyes full of prairie sermons
and writhing, the grass crawling up my thighs
to some slow thrum of...
and a stitched quilt of small prisons
containing birds and little dutch girls.
once i was watched.
patchwork tourniquet and blindfold.
the gospels spill the blood best
and these hollow eyes and lungs say such things
bemoaning beasts and breasts...
just a leaf on the street trembling,
but i undo myself.
i most likely should conjure this in third person
to make it seem less disturbing, but,
i am bloodletting you know
there is some blurry psychosis in which i feel
my poetic emptiness can wait.
Fire, summer sky,
smoldering scourge of light.
Oppressor, on high.
Hear me, O' sire!
O' burning blessed blight!
Sink down and die!
Your children ache, and lust to
bathe in the blood of twilight.
the great swallowing begins here.
my first lesson-- how heavy hunger starves you out.
the never again
the dead dance
in the wild darkness--
in the wanton emptiness---
do i dare stay inside eternity?
listen to me
of your eyes'
that you called her
i never really was.
It could have been beautiful,
Your eyes and my something
(Not much of note, to be honest)
Bled away the chances
Of what could have been
Chameleon eyes and unpredictable
We were lost
In a fleeting second
A potential memory
A flesh machine on mind control
facing the spike details
of a hike dismay.
Born to shine
upon wound-ed life
by counting scale or wing
held tight to my lungs.
A secret trust
in the garden crust
or a skin of significant
numbers & letters
and an ageless rate
Come, steal me the sun
and bury away it's glow
in smoke, ash and coal.
Cover me in cold.
Ice and frost, silver and snow...
Harden mind and soul.
As before and ever shall be
the pillars that held my dreams.
it isnt enough to be
at the place where someone crossed my heart
offswiftly; those summers linger with fingers so hot
they feel cool, so i remember for a minute.
never am i sure of why i need more words
to assuage the way i see, even,
of course now, and of course then, the...
to finalise it,
my fingers shake.
i knew i was something
where humans kiss
and do not....
never again shall i resemble everything..
the rapid inconsequence of no words wears my skin.
i imagine you can see my skull by now
and i move with stories of flowers found headless.
It ended the way it began.
In a bottle
Easy come, easy go.
Words stumbling off of chapped lips
Dying in the january twilight
I saw the embers
Of carefully constructed maybes
Ash among the resting places bordering dreams and nothing.
Knew better than this.
Masculinity is leather-bound hands holding you closed, taut skin,
how he taught you to hold your mouth as a purse-string,
drawn together so no one can steal from you;
a pocket full of loose change,
lost marbles, mouth so full of bees;
they'll sting you if you let them.
Keep your tongue...
Femininity is pressed flower petals in your grandmother’s tabletop bible,
hand-me-down to your mother, probably won’t ever make it to your hands;
it nests under the coffee table
your father made for her so many years ago
from the oak trees
whose memory you never had the pleasure of...
There will be nights where you feel like your
love is a crumbling artifact, a memento
of time before children, before bills, before the rent
was so high that it rivaled your anxieties about money;
they will come when your husband falls asleep on the couch
and does not come to bed. They will...
into overactive lungs.
I can hear the sea
weather beaten rocks
and she is laughing.
Anne Sexton is on my nightstand
when I tell you
I am too tired
to get out of bed.
My bones are damp with rain
and heavy with ache,
and it storms every day now;
such is the nature of autumn
I listen to the raindrops,
One was pale skin and freckles,
hair as copper as the pennies
you’d pressed into your palms,
sweat on your chest, fogged car windows,
making it home by curfew.
Always PG13, always wondering if you were enough
to be loved, always wondering why he didn’t
hunger for your body
Ambulance screams past the diner
where I am waiting tables, waiting
for a better chance at something,
Someone listening to their police scanners
tells me it’s a gunshot wound. I assume
I don’t know them....
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