His awful skin
stretched out by some tradesman
is like my skin, here between my fingers,
a kind of webbing, a kind of frog.
Surely when first born my face was this tiny
and before I was born surely I could fly.
Not well, mind you, only a veil of skin
from my arms to my waist.
I flew at night, too. Not to be seen
for if I were I'd be taken down.
In August perhaps as the trees rose to the stars
I have flown from leaf to leaf in the thick dark.
If you had caught me with your flashlight
you would have seen a pink corpse with wings,
out, out, from her mother's belly, all furry
and hoarse skimming over the houses, the armies.
That's why the dogs of your house sniff me.
They know I'm something to be caught
somewhere in the cemetery hanging upside down
like a misshapen udder.
If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls—
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse—
If only Centuries, delayed,
I’d count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman’s Land.
If certain, when this life was out—
That yours and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity—
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee—
That will not state—its sting.
I looked up towards the night sky,
and upon my gaze I noticed
your face laying upon it,
slowly you were consumed by the other constellations,
you slowly faded away and what seemed like forever, was only a mere second it took you to leave me behind...
Cold air swirls and clings to my naked form
arms outstretched I feel the icy grip of peace.
Divested and devoid of all personal items I walk to the edge
Naked as a new born under a baleful moon I am reborn.
This new birth will not last, it's a temporary relief.
Clad only in my skin the cold scrolls over my body
I feel its grip, its participation in this my final act.
The wind now howls, as if it too wants a role in this my curtain call.
Whipping at the frosty air these elements almost make me stay.
Toes poised on the cliffs edge, head thrown back, eyes closed,
face upturned towards the moon's celestial il luminance
Ill light indeed, for it allows me to see my path in the dark.
That path is a spiral into the water below
The Moon has a long association with insanity and irrationality; the words lunacy and lunatic (popular shortening loony) are derived from the Latin name for the Moon, Luna. Philosophers Aristotle and Pliny the Elder argued that the full moon induced insanity in susceptible individuals, believing that the brain, which is mostly water, must be affected by the Moon and its power over the tides, but the Moon's gravity is too slight to affect any single person. Even today, people insist that admissions to psychiatric hospitals, traffic accidents, murders or suicides increase during a full moon, although there is no scientific evidence to support such claims.
There is a sky full of oceans
between the stars
An ocean full of stars
between every mirrored
The moment that carries you forward
is also the very moment
of never being able to go back again
Caught in the incoming tides blossom
when the moment of love rushes in...
I didn't think,
Nowhere to go,
No way to live,
How was I to know?
I just went as far as I could,
Took shelter from the rain,
Tried to forget,
And sleep with a cold heart again,
Is it any better?
Am I any happier now?
My bruises start to fade,
But I'm not sure how,
To let the memories,
That keep me up,
No matter what I do,
Her face will always smile,
But vanish too soon,
Replaced with anger and fists,
And that screaming tune,
That repeats through my mind,
No matter where,
It never leaves,
Hit the wall.
Hit the floor
Glass in my arm.