i will collect you in my arms
all of you
as you wish
from the merest shadow you may call me
i will leave through
the sound of a coin
on a marble step
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
as if pebbles underfoot
the sky sings a coarse lullaby
we sit
stubborn and thick
in the clenched pipe of time
unable to pass us
it seems strange, now,
thorns have cleared a path for us;
clouds bulge
in dark promise
oh, the envious hymnal breeze!
how it wrings its wrists
in heavy handed disbelief
a cathedral of trees
holds you and me between earth
and spangled evening
our geometries slowly converge
the unknown looks away in fear
as the pulp of our understanding
sweetens the ink of our verse
intertwined
from broken shells the bird steps
from her beak night screams
missiles of ancient light
weave the moon
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
starlight
like ancient thread,
looms thoughts
in vaults behind my eyes
each night,
the first thing my pillow whispers
is you
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
days of restoration, making.
gathering , stacking found
books, some to tie, to read
later.
it is a curious thing, the cotton,
the string. there are films
and recollections for work.
if i say there is nothing
to understand, will you
understand this statement?
there is another ceasefire.
sbm.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
sits prettily, the starched mat
is frayed a little now.
it was an evening of festivities over
poetry, regarding god, diana, the queen
of hearts. catch phrase, a moderate game,
played better standing close, somehow.
the books were cheap, stock sale in the library,
he left his life to live
in alaska. chapter two
sbm.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
let me curl up
inside your heart, your ears
so i may always
hear the sea
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
make bombs with razor bits
to explode and cut people up.
to **** and dismember, some
one picks the bits up, to carry
home in a bag.
child.
two thousand and fourteen.
it is raining today.
sbm.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
by candlelight
from iliac crest
to supersternal notch;
the delicate pilgrimage
of my mouth
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
beloved
come, lean to me,
let us be morning shadows
as the hem of night
slips from our lips
---
when sadness lives in you
you shrink inside
away from your eyes
you walk slowly
as not to rattle
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
there is a feel in the air,
a change in the whether.
very place caused confusion,
pond dipping involuntary
shuddering, and delight at small creatures.
who play croquet with new rules,
we never knew the old, it proved
without flamingos
that i am not alice.
it is about a year now,
i blocked you.
sbm.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC