the mirrors reflection
only ever spoke of her
weak, alone, a ghost
wonder-less at most
it was her place to hide
but the mirror
she punched it
with her fist
until it was
bleeding into the cracks
until it became
In empty pages and stark contrast the storm chased away the weak now alone I stand.
The hero a pawn truth cast aside for others cause .
We embrace solutions where no problems exist.
May the colors run red from forgotten cause and history be erased for the sake of all that must be forever mundane.
I wish only to drag you to the depths and leave you to linger where nothing but a child's logic can remain
In spider webs we threw are thoughts now tangled the words left to wither in passing days.
May we dance in empty halls to illuminate the shadows and create the ghosts for others to place there hopes of what never shall be again.
To silence the voice is but closing the chapter to spite the clear view .
Nothing stands a statue for the promise of tomorrows decay and the bastards will parade there ignorance as the simple minded spread a plague to which we are losing this battle.
I write for no one to read and all to judge.
Where's the laughter now the jester is asked in ruins of a kingdom now simply reduced to ruble.
I remember what you will never taste and you may judge but waters tasted pure beats the stolen verses and burrowed lines of a time I no longer care to understand.
And Time passed me as it will pass you just the same .
May the silence remind you of that which never was to be.
We all will know this place someday.
As my frontal lobe articulates
from the anterior, just under
my forehead, I understand
why sweat beaded upon my
upper lip and my eyes bled
Spilling words onto a sheet
of paper, ink stains shaped
like a swarm of angry bees.
Crisping like raisins too long
in the sun, angling on a hook
that captures May like a
golden sunset dying on a breeze
Messages in Cherry Red reflecting
on the mirror to be read back after
an intoxicating night. Never would
the words remain in the steam of
a quiet shower that washes away
remnants of sorrow or a quaking
knowledge that what the lipstick
says just might happen to be right
A table set for twenty six as only
one will attend to partake of seven
courses of molasses and fake hope
Pacing up and down, rearranging
the letters in a potion of epic…ness
that can only come from plucking
consonants from a burning lava,
scraping the bottom of the barrel
for a vowel in the Alphagetti soup
There is the napkin I blew my nose
into which only had a phone number
on it. It turned into 8 reasons why
I would never bother to call
And there is the corner of my duvet
that I dribbled on but the pattern
resembled all my shattered dreams
that poured out of my mouth while
sleeping and became my greatest fall
Here is the ultrasound that has a few
words that sum up what the world
means to me and a picture of our daughter
This is the 15 scraps of paper that you
wrote 15 different lines of love to me
and they are all in the box, being loved
just as everything else ought to.
There are books and printouts and bits
of cardboard and a piece of driftwood
that I used to scratch a few words in
with a rock along with the photo of
the words written inside a heart on a
beach that was one thousand kilometers
away from you but I was there and
you were not.
There is 3.4 gig on a computer and
a gazillion that are frothing inside a
compartment that is internalized and labeled
Someday To Be Said. No matter where or
how or why or now or latter on paper or
engraved in rock on a elaborately carved stone
or chasing their own tails in their own head
Folded like a paper plane and launched
into a rabid universe words will land where
they will, dressed as they are, happy the party
is still in full swing. They don’t wonder
if the landing is soft, they fall, and then
they become still.
Her loneliness wears maroon,
I am aware," to her yin, my yang,"
mine in deep purple echoes,
the density that's her, in my presence.
On an island of her own, she sojourns,
where there is comfortable room for two.
A happy recluse she is, ruminating,
diving deeper in to the sea of consciousness.
What does it really mean?
we are wound around a "KOAN", working on it,
wouldn't stop to think, I flow
with the insistent gravitas of the current,
Through her the dense silence speaks,
in voices clear, heard within me.
all beyond words, and in a far more
subtle plane, than this existence.