Stop,

you said.

Don't come any closer

to this bloody corpse

this empty vessel leaking sinew and disgrace

upon your once shining floor.

I'll feed you my memories, give you that time.

Remember: how it was that night.

When my fingers were nubs

that held onto damp bricks

when I heaved the excesses of my guts

into that shimmering street.

With lights

that made me a shadow,

so you can hardly see me now.

I'm a creature,

who leeches light from you.

So my eyes can open and stamp you as my own

and make you suffer

for all I have done.

the cold floors of forgetting

You opened your arms

to find me waiting.

I wanted to make you aware

of this void,

which has swallowed all of your old belongings.

The old rug that she picked out,

with a tacky motif of spirals and scones,

done in limp shades of brown.

It's synthetic fibers

melting and smoking, eventually disintegrating into itself.

The cast iron pan, that made eggs and bacon on cold winter mornings.

When you would forget your slippers

and stand one foot on top of the other,

while you waited in front of the stove.

Waited, with your eyes closed. Replaying the night before,

when she said she didn't love you. You couldn't keep her.

She came up behind you;

the bacon is starting to burn.

Her arms wrap around your middle

and her face nuzzles into that crook between your face and shoulder,

where the skin is soft.

You want to hit her across the jaw

with the cast iron pan. Push her down

onto the frigid linoleum floor.

You want to straddle her stomach, hold down her shoulders

and scream.

There was nothing left in you

that didn't remind you of her.

It all laid broken, in disrepair.

Nothing but a warped skeleton remained.

Its shelves sagging

under the weight of forgetting.

I was called here.

After I saw your eyes

that laid flat.

I had to open the windows, let the light reflect.

I bustled around your place, tsk tsking under my breath

at the dust

you had let gather

in your absence.

I set away, to make things new.

spring

over night

the trees bloomed,

and permeated the thick dark

with their smell

of regenerated death

made into a sickly sweet life,

once again.

The plants found their bearings

and gathered their strength,

so they could push thru the earth

to start anew.

a work in progress

so i've been playing with this one for a little while, and have a few starter versions but i think i like this best. it's going to be expanded once i find the right way to continue. here's the start!

There was an accident of lovers one night.

Coming together, no one heard a sound.

Their forceful collision

was muffled by the wet grass they fell on,

its blades reflecting the moon on their arched backs.

Crushing crocus buds under bent knees and splayed hands

they came together,

just like the night.

In the darkness, and up so close

they looked the same as any other.  

regeneration

I want this blog to be home for my scattered poems and thoughts. 

These initial poems are collected from the past few months and the last two were written tonight.

I.

I.

fingering the surfaces of flimsy covers,

I unhinge my binding, making me bound

I am bound to you

my cover cannot contain me, flimsy as it is

I see

overwhelming my eyes,

vision not founded.

II.

consider what truths you have concealed,

through artifice and charm,

proof will then be erased,

of your animalness

of your savageness

rest composed,

poor sad one: no one will think you uncontrolled.

No one will consider you.

Because you are what you hide,

quick to hide the proof, by abiding by the canon.

What pain is it, to conceal your shadows?

What in time do you miss?

All the time it takes to remain timeless, unlined and untouched.

How can you deny your body the privilege to be unafraid?

Show that, you too, are savage.

That you cannot control the power of yourself.

III.

Beside me, you lay.

feeling the skin that separates us, gurgling words that unify our pinprick pupils.

A tunnel that we can crawl through, a hole that we can slip through

that great pull of falling.

There is grace in passion,

there is potential in loving.

Underneath the skin we create something of a majesty.

On that we learn to develop around ourselves, as if to extend the capital that we posess.

Without this glow:

this internal knowing flicker of being

you are nothing.

IV

My senses

exist on strings

that tense and sing

pluck and wail

I hurdled my body

(cramped as it was, with its need for flesh)

towards your gaping mouth

your popping finger joints and exageratted limbs

so I could feel you

and how your long hands

felt on my wailing skin

which was never played quite right

V

You were running towards me

your full pockets making music with the loose change

that you collected, and didn't know how to spend.

A moment of recognition occurred,

as your mouth hung open in a haphazard grin.

Your eyes opened so much that I could hardly stand their vulnerability.

Vulnerability that I took for granted.

That I took from you, like that loose change you didn't know how to lose.

I saw you again last week. But you wouldn't look at me,

wouldn't risk trusting your eyes (hardened now, reflections of light).

You ran from me,

I had taken too much.

VI

You slept on the front porch

and I left you outside.

To be away from me. 

It's funny how time has brought us apart,

it used to be all we had. 

The screen door slams, here you are

standing before me with your face turned down.

Away from me.

You say don't bother, 

and I wouldn't anyway.

VII

Surrendering myself

underneath the sun,

above the weight of my plodding feet.

They (terrified of flight) aim to keep me here, shielded from that mirage on the horizon

that shimmers and waves to me.

I don't know what I would find away from where I am. 

VIII

I whimper earnestly and let my head drop.

That is how badly I want you.

My fingers curl up

like little claws,

I am a monster ruled by one objective.

I want to tear into you

and get to know you quickly.

Your skin and your sinews, your knees and your pupils:

that should all be for me.

The last time I saw you, we sat in the dark.

I was calm being there next to you.

IX

You say that nothingness is all you want, 

a hole made of static to swallow you up.

Getting lost in the cavity of that mighty pupil,

you will say "it is so dark, I cannot see the stars, I have lost my way".

I will be there searching and pulling for your arms.

Wanting to get you out of that deep space you cannot feel.