I stitched
hands trembling
patch to patch
concealing your perfection
your fabric pricked
with each new stitch
an inverse of C-section

Each ***** at you
a stab at me
and trickles of red blood
adorned
visage of clotted dreams
the color of dried mud

Patch after patch
meticulously
fragmentally I forgot
aware that there’s no other way
full of dismay
full of regret

A grim artwork
you stood and smirked
your scarred and awful smile
a bride of snide
spread far and wide
a dusty, mangled guise of guile

I covered
this textile Frankenstein
this fractured made a whole
covered myself with you
and mumbled
a prayer to rest
my tattered soul

A curse upon you
for casting me the role of
a blind tracker
who's anxious with each step
lest his fumbling fingers
his stumbling stroll
will wipe clean the footprints
you left in the sand

----

A pox on your head
for sentencing me to
hang
from the smoldering debris
of my crumbling hopes
by a noose tied and fixed
to the moment
your turned back has
crossed through the door

----

Be ******
all that is you
a decaying piece of cloth
wrapped around dried up bones
produced from the depth of the past
rattled and hastily poured
pretending to feign me a future
with your crickety crackling song

what if the
Moon is alive and she
is listening to us on Earth
and is looking up at a blue
crescent that fills her sky
wondering about us
from afar

does she see our city lights
dark against her starry sky

cryptic hieroglyphs
neon constellations

does she know
who we are
who reach
out to
her

Ever present
percolating through the words
squeezing between minutes
wisping back and fro
awe struck and delighted
by our emanating glow
it flows
in friction absent motion
herding to a circle
appraising
assessing
until, curious and slow
it reaches
at times to pluck
and decorate the ear
at times to rake
a handful to the pockets
retreating as we scuttle
to fill the lingering void
gazing at the shrinking puncture
thatching it with open palms
huddling in human warmth
shining
more than ever