Dec 2 Brendan Owens
Eriko

my blood boils,
reeling thickly through my veins
my limbs swell with red,
breath quickens and hastens
for an explosion of incoherent material,
simply permitting the emotion
to tremble deep in the marrow
of my bones like the way the earth
rumbles with exhilarating fury,
the world vanished and I'm consumed
with this parasite inside of me
and I fume and tremble,
anticipating the impeding scream
building in the hall in my chest,
its digging fingers creeping through
the cavities and pulsing throat,
and I open my mouth to shout, to scream,
yet nothing escapes...
I walk silently, the quaking of my knocking knees
and darting of my eyes
betraying the sizzling coals
boiling the red I feel
pooled in the pit of my stomach
and like spit fire, my fury collapses in
its own exhaustion,
so simmering and flickering,
I burrow into an empty shell...
waiting for my wounds to heal

I look at a man
Standing in front of me
He’s a far-off person:
An odd identity.
He follows you
He follows me
He’s loved and hated,
Just the same,
as God created.
He mends his friendships
He self-inflicts,
Self-aware of his teenage antics:
He bends, yes
He breaks
Yet through it all, here he stands
Nice and tall.
Thorough in his deliveries,
He’s made it through those tragedies
Careless, at times,
Faulty, in his unknown crimes.
I look at a man in front of me
That far off glistening:
Reflecting, sparkling,
That clean-glass look
With a hard-staring look,
Of a window pane
With a plastic, wooden frame

Brendan Owens Nov 30

Is it a little pitiful thing
Shut and lock
My shutters rock slightly
And a light enters, subtly
I know what beckons me
And recognize it well,
Wholeheartedly
Fear and anxiety
Haunt my walls and furniture
Like a putrid odor:
I harbor what little will is left,
Do you still think me pitiful, yet?

It slithers in
A flowing, glowing sinner
It is the true winner
And a shining, plundering wonder
Eliminates my incense
Showers me
And makes me cower
In my own existence
Foster, don’t I still foster some adopted hope?
Outside strength
Inside weakness

And it's all blocked out of me
And I'm left alone in the colliding powers
And it explodes in my face, flammable
Understandable, for me.

And I'm homeless
Again, it seems.

Brendan Owens Nov 29
Joy

Oh wondrous life,
Oh merciless sin,
I have had to look past you and similar kin,
For a deeper meaning:
An understanding within.
A way to walk about the earth
With a heartfelt grin:

On a surface of solid,
I had sunken deep below.
That mud I once stood on, unsure
I soon found myself on a stone, white and pure.
Believing I might just get by
With a glory, sly yet shy,
But to the naked eye
you wouldn’t see much:
A bunch of hair and a soft touch
Rough patches and scars, few and much
An item, a glare, my delicate stare:
Unfortunate, my fortune had once been so unfortunate,
To look at the ground I stood on
The mud I grew upon,
And become sunken in,
When all along I could have been
On that stone, white and thin
If only my imagination,
If my thoughts had let it in,
That sly, shy grin:
If only joy had claimed my skin,
With its biggest win.

Brendan Owens Nov 28

Is it a word or a feeling
That I can gift to you,
Mr. Fleeting?
Drops upon a wooden floor,
A trickle down a metal spout,
Wait, wait
A second drop,
It will soon come out.
Crush
Deathly and growing,
Looking down, the sky screams
And sounds all around.
I'm weary of it all
And soon may I sit back
And let this house fall
To its bitter end.
A notice, a forgiveness
Have you let me borrow,
Mr. Lend?
Give me your helping hand
Be my railing up the slippery step
But don't be cold:
I've to forgive you for the last one,
The last lie that you told,
Mr. Bold
Will you listen to me now?
You're getting old:
You scold,
And I’m here to listen through it all.
From the top, though
Down, down, you fall
A crash, a boom, a bang
What a blush in your white armor
What a change.

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand

To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit----

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they'll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that ?
Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk , talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

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