For centuries
my weary soul's
been swallowin' grey-faced spirits whole.
But the porcelain broke
between the lips
I feel dusky fingertips.
I have short moments,
one brief farewell
before I place my sins in hell.
Stranger please--
lend me your ear,
I've become what I most fear.
I know there's no
such thing as ghosts
but I have seen the demon host.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
Can we speak of these certain vacant spaces
in my abandoned bedroom where the moon dwells
and shuttered creatures search their teeth
for a bloom of flavor and sun.
I'm surrounded by prosaic twilights--tenantless places--
where plaster perfumed by dormant fire
gapes with cavities and empty mouths
that seek him with their tongues.
Where darkness crawls on poppy seeds
on moths and reeds and shoes
to reach me in my consternation
now that his name has fled my lungs.
Today I sewed his note to my breast pocket
but it grew crescent roots like fingernails
and murmured that we were too young.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
I am stranger to the taste
of candor, honor, or courage
a bland and simple fruit.
Exceptional at nothing,
I am exceptionally nothing--
withered from the stem,
the whole way through.
However I have seen
the pallor in your cheek:
a tempting succulence.
Salvation rests beneath
your ripened skin.
I will break the unmarked flesh
I will learn
to be
honorable too,
once I have had
the whole of you.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
well I thought of you in summer
but you did not suit the season--
a pale and solemn human,
your fingers stark and slim.
what was it like to shelter,
in the ring of salt and stone?
you thought that demons could not watch you,
when they've always found their home.
I saw you climb inside your skin, thinking
you'd be safer from within
but his fingertips
poked through
and he was the end of you.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
I admit I am a dark, exhausted beast--
a memory no one summons.
But you rise at dawn with raven hair--
a child of soldier and sun.
Although you've gone,
I covet your crescent grin.
and the sun
within the lining
of your skin.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
little fawn with two bowed knee
do not allow
the boy with crooked mouth
so near your porous flesh
little girl with freckled limb
there are too few fibers
on his winter pelt
to shield your ivory skin
little fawn
let him flush the marrow through
till he has ate
the whole of you
little girl
your flesh is clear
but he does not hate you less
although you've disappeared
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
i dreamt of you
you warmed me in
your callused hands
and sighed as if
i were a hummingbird
out your gran'pa's cabin
lovely an' quick
but i wailed until
my throat was grit
your eyes had turnt'
to green
and the hummingbirds
flew south
to be warmed by
more faithful things
than the rasp of your callused flesh
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
There is a creature rarer than
you dare to dream.
If once it flourished
within your lungs,
savor the eternity,
it left on your tongue.
I have been evaded by
that space between the stars.
It's existence has eluded me,
it's true.
But it thrives in side your mouth
in your cuticles, it blooms
traced 'cross your eyelid
wandering from me to you.
Now I grasp the phantom creature,
I feel it's warmth between my thumbs,
taste the word within me,
because this is us and this is love.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
I.
safe respite from a scary movie
i woke with bags under my eyes
heartbeats under dryer sheets
II.
you could carry me quite far
i loved for you to grasp my hands
they smelled of sweat and cinnamon
III.
first cigarette sixth kiss
you wrote me notes, i burnt them all
of you i do not speak
IV.
you whispered as i wore
your granite jacket; i have yet to tell you that
it's been my favorite color since
V.
you were damp new leaves
weathering fall's best storm
and i destroyed you just as completely
VI.
wet rain long fingers
i rest and watch you speak
i believe
you may be
the final sequence
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Your eye
is the single thing.
I will fill it
with summer weeds
little stalks
no wrinkles
weighed with rain, like lungs of June.
I will fill it
with the hush of grass
swollen
with sun
your quiet lips like prayers, on my tongue.
You must never meet
puckered soil
wasted stems
no sickness
in this summer age.
Your eye will never fill
with these
trembling
wringing hands--
this ceiling without a star.
I will care for you.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC