scent and skin and giving in
when instinct takes its turn
breath and bone and coming home
when you finally close your eyes,
a twitch while you sleep, a howling
coming hard at the moon.
the fingers pressed into your hips,
the teeth with a taste for your throat,
a worry of eyes in the pitch of night,
a scruff for a heedless fist.
your...
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The short timer sun sticks a finger in my eye, rays of reckoning rubbing negatives into my retina, smoke unfurling from my fingers. Birdsong bubbling down to the roots from the crown, the stories they tell to soothe the skies and ward the stones mingling with the put on poignancy the dusk is always hustling. Vague hints and fool’s prophecy as they put the day’s...
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Everybody dies— what makes you so special?
The fear of the finality,
the sentence ends full stop.
The dot dot dash of the rampant heart
at long last parted with its purpose,
with the rest of the wreck gone
derelict, kicking and clawing,
spurting and oozing as
this vessel is abandoned. I guess
it’s all a little overboard, all
messed up and nowhere to go,...
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Without so much as a word the world turns the dew to ice, frost on the fields, clouds smeared across the sky. The stir of matter slows, only the earth and birds to witness the breath as it turns to steam, plumes of proof that the husk still lives. A squirrel rules the lines and the high branches, barely acknowledging the dervish dogs as they...
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Oh, these days of grays and blues. Oh, this sad parade of flesh and bone. The world has a way of not wanting the very things it has created. The world doesn’t sift and sort. We are as we are, with choices and facts and figures we can’t fathom. We are as we are, within our individual parameters, our modes and our leanings. We change...
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The heart grows old in
greens and golds, the gray
streaked beard and
plans gone fallow while
the eyes look away.
At the end of the day
this gaze betrays the pettiness of
intention, empty hands
harden into threats and fists
while the gifted and the fortunate
course on oblivious to all
the slings and arrows living
milk and honey lives have
aimed their way....
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The day burns down until all that is left is night. Sirens and screen flickers and the piano swinging through the solo. Porch lights and lit windows staring out to the street. All the stars flickering through the tidal atmosphere, unseen ripples revealed in botched optics and the opacity of tendered clouds for currency. The hours spent below ceilings and between walls, warmth and shelter...
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The days grow darker despite the bright blue skies and the warm heedless sun. One by one the fruits of labor show only rot and maggot, the long sought grace replaced with grim ideation, the makeshift gallows waiting in the garage. Fantasy serves little purpose when that’s where we all live, the poison of words sunk deep as bones, the lies we live puked up...
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Sometimes it isn’t whether the magic is there. Sometimes it isn’t the mood or the mould that broke. The day spent dizzy and sickly, the consequences firmly camped out in my flesh, head split and mind pursuing strange angels and odd furies. The late afternoon dozed away, emptied like payday pockets, pain buying round after round for every ailment. The heart beats on, weak and...
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The words won’t do, and the day grows dark. The words won’t do, and the rain falls down. We wait for a signal, we look for a sign, we smoke em if we got em. It doesn’t make a difference, it doesn’t work out alright. Every day the awful grows, misplaced and utterly unnecessary. Every day the end won’t come. Just words to spit and...
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The late day sun still rages
despite the season and the time,
a balm before the calendar
tries to prove it wrong and
everything is wings—
the bold sparrows and the fitful doves
crowd the feeders and the pines
as the field beyond the fence
reveals the translucent host
glittering in clouds and legions,
stubborn angels of the earth and air
alive and shining and...
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There is no sky to be seen, just a ceiling textured with spider silk and sadness. There is no respite, just squalor and de facto servitude. The body goes without grace or dignity, only disfunction and decrepitude. Walking about upon open wounds, propped up on ache and ire, every other interaction sick and tainted with sorrow and fury. The music flips around on the floor,...
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