I Whispered it to Myself

•June 16, 2019 • Leave a Comment

An empty coffee cup, placed

above board bland,
inside a cupboard,
“Stress… What Stress?”
it smiles, frantic man
stenciled pale,
lightning strikes, prolific
designers halo head,
majestic magnet,
in ancient years, eras
long fraught with a pastiche
of sanguine, saccharine,
longest time I ever had,
it’s all that is left of him,

empty, yet stained still,

from drops of roasted
love, a joke to mental illness,
everyone laughed, I always
had that strength, once
when any of it mattered,
gifts for a day I will never
be, no breakfast for me,
no ties, no games in the rain,
I’ll laugh with them in a
dream, then wake up free,
at least I have one left,
one time, stinging reminder,
no satisfaction to even bother,

but my stomach breathes

warmly, now, today I
remember it,
and I remember

all that was you

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It is in This Chasm…

•June 5, 2019 • Leave a Comment

It is in this chasm, the light’s misspelled,

a drunken beam brushes our loneliness,

like a sailor in the vastness of vast seas,

we push among the waves’ darkest blue,

fuel for carrion and teeth for deciduous,

the skunk-sun pisses rainbows from high,

as we pass dying vagrants on each curb,

we whisper our song-tune to one another,

it is great and boundless, vapid and dull,

sunken like ships from dark watch doom,

feral and rotten, wistless and buffooned,

it is in this chasm, our hearts line in sight

of each other, every corpulent hug a skip

to the next one, a monkey’s paw trapped

about dirt with a hand glance sad trance,

masterfully whipped and blooding verbs

sank and sunk, attached to our lung’s eye,

we are the struggles of modern lighting

troubles, our presence a comedic routine

sat perfunct and perfuse, at a late night

dive bar, anachronistic our every move,

it is in this chasm, that I am grateful for

you, for your chatter morning teeth face,

plodding math return, sunken wet eyes

wishing for one more try, late night boor

beauty, snapped in ambrosia, lovely, wit

and brain sanctity, love beats me bloody

about your presence, I hand hold hell all

of it hard, until you return safe and saving

Grocery Story

•May 28, 2019 • Leave a Comment

An old one about anxiety and love.

eclecticismgunfight

At the grocery store in September,
it’s not charmed, nor am I charming,
well, not at least to myself, but she
says I am, she says a lot of things
about who I am, what I do, and all
the things I can do, like this, and
that, and then this again, just like
this, actually, and she smiles again,
and looks at my face, and says my
skin looks nice in this light, and
I feel my ears get hot, and I smile
at her smile, and tell her that I am
scared, but then no words come out,
so I look silly, and I remember my
location in this world; planet; a
scope larger than my charming
nature, eyes upon eyes looking at
me, waiting for me to say something,
or burst out in laughtertearspanic;
in the line, surrounded by peering
and sneering old women, toddlers,
I’m in…

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Dispensed; Departed

•May 17, 2019 • Leave a Comment

I check the listing every day, you’ll

never read this, you’ll never see

into my eyes, like bites from fleas,

impetigo, disease, pregnancy wants,

lessons learned, fifty lashes for you,

trickle through the brain’s center, a

menace in armor, static and shiny,

wanton and stolid, this memory of

living is just transience, dream-like,

fugue-state, it’s the greatest trick that

has ever been pulled, and daily you’re

face is a reminder for me to sink and

not swim, take the rope and lasso the

wraith, sat dying in the closet space,

a phantom of regret and solitude, any

alms welcome, he says, any blood to

quench me, he says, fasting quick, he

says, just step in and talk, he says, a

magic dart from the shadow’s corner,

in the soot I step like pitch’s song to

cancer, a rook squeals at my hand

as I reach, my eyes open and I gasp,

the swirling light flashing romantic on

the walls inside the room, Roman nose,

a tragic figure in white, staccato the

tremolos sing with pleasure, the clock

winks as I glance and wince, what a

memory to curse myself with on a night

so lovely and bright, what a life I live

when so much good is darkened by the

boot black that is the past me, here’s

a quarter for the stellar job, I say to

the closet, I hope I won’t need you more,

I say in my heart, but you’ll never

read this, your wraith awaits when

you finally wake up in sweat, pooling

your regret into a dark mix, tipping it

to your lips to poison your heart, drink

he’ll say, enjoy the pain, he’ll say, and

you’ll finally have no choice, your

ears will burn and echo with the smite

that is your neglect, and I’ll sit smiling,

ready to leave the door open at night,

remember me, I’ll say, forget what you

think is true, I’ll say, and your end will

come alone, like us all, and I’ll use the

tears to pay Fantomas, the phantom who

reaches for me when light is dimmest

Libera Mater Est

•May 3, 2019 • Leave a Comment

I’d sit in the rain,

and risk death,

to clean the womb

from my skin

C in Biology

•April 26, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Being is a handful
of flowers,

whichever make
you feel,

covered in booze,
but listless, bright,

somber sanctity
dying more,

every day,
every night,

smelling clean,
until they

finally
smell more,

and then
smell less,

until a time,
new forms

regrow again,
every spring

ready for
new hands,

new smells,
listless cells,

candied souls,
tensile strength

From Up Here

•March 28, 2019 • Leave a Comment

I do have quiet memories,

I swear I do, I swear,

even though I ramble on

about the loud ones,

especially after a few drinks,

especially after I choose

to feel again on that day,

but their stories never suit my

need for drama in tale,

or the search we all have

to become whole again,

so I leave them for more

ordinary people,

who let one bad event

change who they became,

then I hold on to all the

bits that shaped me

into an amorphous blob,

as I float along the water,

retelling each horror just

a little different each time,

sometimes more subdued,

sometimes more relishing,

because I desperately want

to land on shore one day,

in a single, defined shape,

free from the terror,

weightless and drifting,

ready to talk about a warm

day in July or August,

or a boring holiday that

most people forgot,

where nothing happened

and I remained the same