My heart condemned to a cell  
became so shrunken by disuse
All my lovely things
shoved to a corner
near a radiator
for its rhythm, right, and heat  
Crushed by all the useless rules
reigned down from The Above
proclaiming—

"Certainty!"
of “what should be.”

My heart was never made for such a small space

But now—
atrophied and bowed by fear
prison garb seems comfortable
I don't think too much of hope or love in here
Too wary and too tired
to defend the right or wrong of it—or me
The sentence: so much more than I could bear:

“Life of Loneliness
no parole"

It’s good I didn’t hear the words
I would’ve died of grief

But all those years—

I served!
__

I wipe my eyes on the reprieve

Spent some time—
on my release
in cold gusts by the shore
where there’s room-- so finally
to breathe

Lifted my eyes into
the risk of clouds
the withered sun

If wind and sorrow
share the tears
that have returned


I figure...
so can we...

...share love
in a large room

knocking down guilt’s darkest walls

where souls make jails to keep from getting free
...Let them find each other there

This depression
runs deeper than Hadal.
A dead man’s float
protects me from drowning,
and I’m told how strong this is,
as if it’s the same as
parting this Red Sea with my own hands.

In moments of sufficient serotonin,
I believe them, some days
arms go brittle, body limp,
stillness capturing blood shot eyes,
and right before I drown
something saves me,
but when I come to,
I cough sea water against the shore,
and I am still alone.

The ocean’s soot stained hands are the only constant I can recognize.

I know it will come back.
It always does.

The battle between
darkness and depression
is onslaught for any troubled soul
for it takes place much deeper
than any dug out hole
This darkness seems to just find me
Takes over my world into my sanctuary
It settles around the iris of my eyes
Turning me into someone who just seems to cry
Rooted in negativity and lost in my pain
Through my eyes it enters my brain
Corrupting my each and every thought
Breeding unwelcome memories that like to haunt
Spreading now like poison through my veins
Trying to take over till nothing remains
Writing words is my only defense
When nothing else I do makes any sense
The power of prose keeps that place deep within me
Safe and free from this darkened toxicity…

Drifting off in mid-day
She is there in my parent's house
Where she should not be
She's never met them
been inside their home

...and besides
She's dead...

Don't know where I drop my brains off
or my heart
when sleeping
I so clearly know this
but I dismiss it
for the moment--
go along with joy
to have her with me once again

She looks so well!
Her pale skin flushed
below her ragged, reddish hair
Wearing peacock blue sateen
as always
dressed to ****
to go somewhere
anywhere
away
from loneliness
from cancer

...and she had included me
on her glorious outing
without title
without honor
I had been her teacher-friend
like an elder wedding guest
she had grown
beyond ...

She helps me dump my canvas bag of poems
on my parent's bed
Where I conceived them
or they conceived me

“What about this one?
Or this is a good one too!
I know you can do this!
You read so well!”
she says
I'm thinking, “This is not like Jenn,
so reversed
for her to give a thought...
and besides, it is not even my event!"

Now she's in my mother's place
in her 1950's closet
pushing hangers across the rail
She would find it--
something
I could wear

I am so transported by the smell
of memories
that I don't care
mothballs, lavender, perfume
I get distracted deep within
almost losing track in the euphoria
to have found my friend again
I lose a moment in the soft fur of mom's mink
clipped together mouth to tail
to form the stole
an ouroboros
With its beady eyes
on me
like death
would drape across my shoulders
given half a chance

When from its mouth of glamorous lies....
Jenn shoves me through life's opened door
She has found that dress!
I wore...

the one with hope, and future's
purple flowers
dropped waist and scalloped neck
Yes, It would do, “Yes!"

But now,
she makes excuse to leave
...of meeting Joe
...of going on ahead...

I know
she must

as this is all some clabbered past
a gift of dreams
Still, I want to hug her
just one last....

but she feels empty...

In embrace
she turns to ash