soft like silken honey.
Your words ever venomous,
glimmer like sugar,
itty bitty sugar crystals,
bending light as they
pass between your lips.
Valentines Day ChallengeThere are no songs that I could sing
above a whisper's pitch,
no tone or sound to match
the humming bird flutter of your breathing.
The feather of your sleep, dances on your lashes;
the soft smile
warmer than down across my chest. I place
a single kiss, upon your sleeping breast. I watch
your lips part at my affectionate intrusion.
In silence like a dreaming bird, I listen.
SorrowI feel it. Water, salty to the tongue, fills up the cup
cut into the space in the hollow below my sternum.
It fills to the brim, flowing from nowhere, and overflowing
it spills into and over my veins. In waves that ebb and thrust
in the canals of my nerves, the water rises to my brain. It
sinks down into my legs, buckling my knees in the force
of its weight. The tide is rising, and I am made an ocean
in the form of a man. The water trickles down from the corners
of my eyes becoming a channel for the ships of my grief
to sail out into the world that does not recognize the man
I am. An entire ocean bubbles and rolls behind my face.
A slow steady wave becomes a beast that cracks the green
glass surface of my sea. In the wash that sweeps
my sandy skin, in the sheen that shows where water once
rose, the man is lost in the wake. I break.
GnatsMy mind is buzzing like a million gnats
swarming over the fruit of my thoughts.
Though the mouth of one gnat is small,
together they feast on the flesh like the fangs
of a salivating maw. Obscuring the luscious
globe of imaginings, the zipping and zigging
waves of annoyance that no amount of
swatting at nothing, or nervously rocking
eat at me.
PebblesLittle by little the flint-stone of my soul is worn away into whatever time will make of me. Am I destined to be another pebble in a shallow stream, or a blade like those of ancient dark eyed people? Am I destined to weep at the loss of my being, or will I be honed, sharpened, a thing with a purpose? One more stone is skipped across the pond, but in the depth of the pool I find myself sinking.
It's Pretty Humid OutThe sky is layered in consuming grey,
like a balanket on a day too warm for the covers.
The patchwork sky is quilted in the cotton fluff
of the grey that stagnates the air.
I languish on a couch meant for lovers;
alone, all I have is my bare shoulders to hold.
It is not the sweat of passion that dampens the folds
of the mute brown cushions, but the stale air of inactivity
condensing on my skin.
I lay in silent stagnation, no wind to stir in me
the breath to move me into action.
Without warning, the grey quilt tears.
Rain taps on the sidewalk like fingers tap
on a pane of glass.
I am up and running,
down the stairs.
A WispShe is menthol on my tongue, minty
with flashes of green that tickles my eyes
as I fight to keep from blinking.
Her kiss burns like the cherry of a cigarette
held firmly against my quivering lips; ashes
are all that she leaves in her wake.
She rises above me, a wisp,
wrapped around my finger tips.
I have no choice, but to breathe her in.
She fills my chest in the span of every breath,
like a tide made of smoke, rising and falling. I have
no choice, but to inhale and taste her on my tongue.
He only dates broken girls.I will destroy you. I will
make you love me
without even trying;
you’ll love the scabs
on my knees, the bruises
under my eyes, my
singed hair. You will love
the rush of holding
my hand as we cross
the bridge; you’ll feel
like a hero each time
I don’t jump. You will buy
me chocolates, the most
expensive, to guilt me
into eating. You will buy
me seeds instead of flowers,
to give me a reason to
get up in the morning. You
will make me dependent,
even as I feed your white
knight complex. I will destroy
myself, and so you,
and you will know why storms are named after people.
ReflectionI want to sprinkle a piece of me
Into bit-code hoping it sticks.
But no one cares about the truth
Unless it's funny.
And I've lost sight
Of what that is;
I've been taught that it's all relative.
We're all irrelevant in the end
And so, the fire that use to burn in my heart
Is all Charcoal. And I've been trying
To see with no eyes; to drive with
But now I know I want to melt
Together people's 90 degree angles,
Until the world knows everyone's rights.
I want to melt together the distance
That separates prose and poetry;
Fact and Fiction; light and darkness.
Dead or alive?I feel numb
Is this death?
Or am I still alive?
If I'm alive
I shouldn't be
Because death is better
Than this cursed life
While You Were SleepingWhile you were sleeping
to whisper about you jealously
in their tiny little chain gang
bigger, badder, better.
While you were sleeping
their undying bond of friendship
and every face hardened
sadder, snider, solid.
While you were sleeping
conspiracies rose and fell
with your breath
and They rustled with laughter
more, malicious, mayhem.
While you were sleeping
Cancer shoved over other kids
in the playground
and took their place
suddenly, so, scared.
While you were sleeping
you were overrun
and we can fight it, of course,
with artilleries in the arteries
we'll, wield, weapons
but while you were sleeping
they took a misered,
into tumultous, tumourtuous, laughter
as you lay undefended
and they captured your heart.
The Horror StoryMy horror should turn to grit that chokes the rusting cogs of passing breaths.
It should sneak into crevice and corner until each pirouette of a clock hand crunches
a desperate death rattle into the mid-December hysteria. It should.
I want my terror to ooze into the machinery of existence and permeate the iron.
I want it to coat, and coax wheels off their axels as my mind spins out of control.
The whole world should grind it's internal organs like black pepper. To a halt.
The stars should feel the chill of my desperation and slide sluggishly down the sides of the sky
dripping burning nitrous into our eyes that in turn melt out of their sockets.
I want every subatomic particle of life itself to suddenly stop, mid sentence.
This is the way the world should fall apart.
This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but with a resolutely maternal voice, strong as gravity, growling "Cancer."
I want the world so still that I will see the traces of the dead le
Ignorant WisdomThe best of us die young
We are blood and body
Mind and muddled matter
That decays from the very air
Necessary like an addiction
Our eyes are skin and sinew
Senses intaking a surface
But to the machine of faults
What is there lost to us?
The best of us are of will
As what will be passed belief
The demanding of subconscious
Edicts of the soul
Then why do they die?
Why must a will be severed
When it drives our existence
All that there is
And will ever represent us?
Why do vessels feed the muscle?
Bones hold up our legs
And a head with strong neck
That its aspirations rise?
The best of us accomplish
Tasks of a higher calibre
Like a barrel of the cannon
One volley into the stars
They undertake with all motive
And lose the unwinnable condition
For through their demarcation
Revitalize our weak hearts
The best of us die young
Because they are not us
And remind us what we should be
Through the greatest league
Of history's lessons
They sacrifice their chance to live
As watcher of the