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 4:49 PM UTC
I sang to her a song of Hope.
I sang to her a song.
For her I wept a lovely note;
A lovely note it was
To her I cried this lovely note.
Leaving my heart in dispair.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
It used to be
when I was three
you'd pick up a shell
and hear the sea
But now we cant do that no more
as oil comes flooding to our shore
And when my little girl is three
there'll be no shells left, thanks BP.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:47 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 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC