GKM: Favorites

Sep 2017 GKM

Jonathan Witte

Our house is a black box.
We drape every window

but one, a pinhole
to capture the sun.

At night our eyes go dark as ink.
Our memories marbleize at
the edge of the bedroom.

Come morning,
we are nothing

but inverted images
fed by shared light.

You tell me to smile
and I braid your hair.

Upstairs, the children
develop like ghosts.

I put on another record
and the dark disc spins,

its needle lulled
into grooves the way
you are lulled into me.

We could almost dance together,
but the couple at the window

will not move until
we come into focus.

Sep 2017 GKM

Revolutions

Sep 2017 GKM

Jonathan Witte

Revolutions

Tonight the ceiling fan
clicks with every turn.

The bedside clock ticks
and tocks in moonglow.

I close my eyes
and one by one
the light bulbs in
the house explode.

The darkness
becomes me,
I think.

I wear it silky black,
a spider-tailored suit
imponderous as ether.

I focus on the anesthetic sound
of a future breathing inside me.

Memory folds like
an obsolete map—

a distant archipelago
of diminishing stars.

Years ago, I’m sure,
we married in a copse
blue with wild hyacinth.

Tonight the satellites
cut like diamond tips,

lugubrious orbits etching
across a bedroom window.

Dawn always blooms with
the sound of breaking glass.

Sep 2017 GKM

Curtains

Sep 2017 GKM

Jonathan Witte

Curtains

The weather only makes it worse.
Cicadas sounding off at dusk.
The flowers blooming in reverse.

Your hand in mine.
Pour yourself another drink:
bourbon, *******.
Her hand in mine.

Our backyard has gone black,
the summer’s vestigial fireflies
devoured by limbs and leaves.

Lie on your back
and listen to me,
decode the blades
of grass that tickle
your ears and neck.

Love or silence.
Which is worse?

We pull at words
like dark threads,
composing curtains
for the windows
of a waiting hearse.

Mar 2017 GKM

Expiration Date

Mar 2017 GKM

Jonathan Witte

Expiration Date

Nine years and still
we cradle our grief
carefully close,
like groceries
in paper bags.

Eventually the milk
will make its way
into the refrigerator;
the canned goods
will find their home
on pantry shelves.

Most things find
their proper place.

Eventually the hummingbirds
will ricochet against scorched air,
their delicate beaks stabbing
like needles into the feeder filled
with red nectar on the back porch.

Eventually our child
will make her way
back to us. Perhaps.

But I’ve heard
that shooting
****** feels
like being
buried under
an avalanche
of cotton *****.

For now it’s another
week, another month,
another trip to Safeway.

We drive home and wonder
why it is always snowing.
Behind a curtain of snow,
brake lights pulse, turning
the color of cotton candy,
dissolving into ghosts.

And with each turn,
the groceries shift
in the seat behind us.
From the spot where
our daughter used to sit,
there is a rustling sound—

a murmur of words
crossed off yet another list,
a language we’ve budgeted
for but cannot afford to hear.

Nov 2016 GKM

Regret

Nov 2016 GKM

Pagan Paul

Regret

.
When you go I will do this,
grace your brow with a kiss.
Upon your breast I will leave
a white rose, to show I grieve.
Please forgive me when I weep
as I see you in eternal sleep.
And when I see another rose,
I'll remember well the path you chose.
My fingernails will carve the stone
as I work my fingers to the bone
to prepare with love your resting grave,
because you are the friend I could not save.

© Pagan Paul (02/11/16)

For a sweet & beautiful friend who carried too many secrets. She found peace at last.
PPx

#suicide #friend

Nov 2016 GKM

a dream to dream again...

Nov 2016 GKM

Akira Chinen

a dream to dream again...

I am in the bones of life
The void of light
The final kiss
The end of dreams
The beginning of song
Wrapped in black shrouds
I give you black wings
And set you free to the night
To become a star
a moon
a sun
and a dream
To dream again
and again...

Nov 2016 GKM

An Ongoing Apology

Nov 2016 GKM

Corvus

An Ongoing Apology

I'm that record player that keeps going on,
Playing the same old, outdated song.
I'm sorry.
All my poems spout the same cliches now.
Hell, I'm the embodiment of those cliches now.
I don't know why I'm suffering from the disease
Years after my exposure to patient(s) zero,
But here I am, sick, bed-ridden and sleep-deprived,
Scratching sores I thought had long healed up.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I don't see colour anymore,
Just the monochromatic shading of decay.
I don't know how to pull myself back up again,
Can't remember how I did it the first time.
I was a ticking time bomb without even realising it,
And I don't even know if I've exploded yet,
Or if this is just the precursor, the countdown
To ripping apart everyone in my vicinity.
I'm sorry.
They say pain makes for the best artists, the best art,
But I'm too repetitive to make anything good.
Even the violent strokes of red have turned dark grey,
And they get darker the further down the abyss I go,
Where the darkness is so dense that light can't penetrate,
And I don't see the nightmares that have come back.
I'm sorry.

Nov 2016 GKM

ghost of your lips

Nov 2016 GKM

Akira Chinen

ghost of your lips

I wake up with the dream of you still wet and pressed hard against my skin and I keep my eyes closed and let the ghost of your vision linger over my body and wander over and inbetween my limbs
I can still feel the heat of your breath on my neck and hear the echo of your whisper telling me what to do
Eagerly I obey every syllable of ever word and my hands become your hands and your hands become the warm soft folds of the flower and pleasures you keep hidden between your thighs and below your belly
I get lost in the rush of my desire and drag myself back into my dreams of you where I get lost deep inside your blooming petals
We lose our flesh
and our bones melt until we become nothing more than two dark velvet seas raging and crashing into each other
We bleed farther into the silk sheets of lust and we become the colors of unknown love as wave after wave climbs higher into this dream
I find myself over you and behind you and below you and your every fiber stiched with electricity to the marrow of my decadent bliss as I come to the edge of gratification
Then death finds me tangled and twisted and sweating inside cold blankets and sheets with my hands my own again and clutching a damp pillow as life explodes between my tightly clenched eyes
not wanting to watch your dream
turn into a mist leaving nothing behind
but the ghost of your lips

Nov 2016 GKM

WHO COULD ASK FOR MORE?

Nov 2016 GKM

phil roberts

WHO COULD ASK FOR MORE?

I've been lucky over the years
And I've saved enough money
To last for the rest of my life
As long as I die on Tuesday

By Phil Roberts