monsoon on corrugated plastic in what is fashionably called an "outdoor room" cacophony. i can't even hear myself unless i yell during a lull - even then, only just intelligible. water creeping around paving stones where the spray has yet to reach. for the first time in my life, i wonder if i caused the deluge as a dramatically correct soundtrack. the thunder makes my ears ring: a call to war. i sit in pleasant deafness, thankful i don't have to hear myself think.
Recently in Poetry Category
Has this breath you take now Found heat, once, in my lungs? I found you in a spacecar I found you when it was all breaking. The child is lost, she is wandering in a world of broken glass that can never cut her. And here, there is still you, and me, we. This breath you take now has found heat, once in my lungs. I found you in my fear, my loathing; I found your silence saved me. Will these gestures we have made Be remembered when we need them? We whisper in the shade between We whisper where the old is now. She grows tall; she flourishes; Her dark hair has hints of gold that glimmer in the dark. And here, there is still you, and me, we. These gestures we have made will be remembered when we need them. We whisper in our guts, our sex; we whisper how we have found our we.
An ash is at her every root and one is at your every end. The press of wisdom's swift pursuit, an ash is at her every root. She burns to girls of ill repute with remedies time does not mend - an ash is at her every root and one is at your every end.
We don't bedizen time and space But stride apart, dissolve, erase. Effaced negation's fashion drawn Not overlooked, what's undergone. The pseudo-smiles caked in chrome-- He drives me there, but never home. We're caffeinated drunks without The strength of will to seek us out. Proximity may lie outright; Unbalance sleeps with him at night. And never strength within I meet To tie it tight. Rings incomplete. We choose amiss, and miss select What's wrong is right. The void correct. So soft, so near the shell he speaks-- We're measured now, in days and weeks. I hide beneath this dark marquis: He sets the bait, but not for me.
(Originally posted August 19, 2004, before I switched content management systems.) Could then, a weary soul try to appease a mind gentler, and ease that which upsets? The wonder at projected silhouettes Illusions of these common vagaries? Now forced astride by lingering regrets and erring only in intent to tease the dilute taste of blood lost underseas in desperation, clings to but vignettes. Romantic notions left behind, forgone Perfection past in both the mind and heart Where truth is lost in justly lives withdrawn. But savage children ever seek beyond To seek what mothers care not to impart To love, to wish, to reach, to pass it on.
( Note that I can't decide if this is finished, or if it was finished after the first stanza. I can't decide if I'm satisfied. This piece makes me uncomfortable. ) I am a weakend petal, time is ruffled on my edge For I fold on every flat, and I finger every ledge And here, these aching bones--are they so much more than mass? These bodies leak potential, they refract like oily glass. The shine along the edge that lights the darkness of our doubt: The lost shall soon be found. The promise, not without. And then we seek the answers as we're buried in the black We step to every side, now blocked, but never stepping back. The slip, it falls around us, and the fabric piles low Pushed through the satin, I move yet! If ever stiff and slow. And where in water lies the current, driving to exclaim? She says in girls in other worlds--or here, who've lost their name. Don't fall too far. Don't bury deep. There's hope still in the air. Give root in shallow, hollow earth. A dream will find you there.