Last Arpeggios

Last Arpeggios Dec 2014

I hesitate past windows,
their luminance wakes up latent memories
of dim-lit rooms and sweet fragrances
dripping off people’s mouths, the decadence of being
logically happy; these silhouettes that I breathe warmly
fade in the relentless cold.
The lack of compassion, a strange comfort
from the World in a black robe,
She is the Widow at a mass funeral;
To die would simply be
to accept
her annual invitation to self-pity

#winter

Last Arpeggios Oct 2014

Last arpeggios

grief, a melody I composed
out of the trill in your lips
and in mine, regretting
not having kissed you alive
when you came to me, a corpse in disguise,
a costume
wearing a hero beyond saving
and I knew by the season in your eyes
and the chill in your finger tips:
through doors you thought you closed
winter came in

your encore ends
with a last arpeggio, mine

#death #music #grief

Last Arpeggios Jun 2014

Voodoo

Dislocated fingers

mold figures in the dust

on old photographs, discolored

by setting suns

Their edges melt; dripping memories

that burn your knuckles

until you open your fists

and he slips from your hands.

like a film, unwinding

into fragmentary pictures

in your mind,

the only place he still exists

Last Arpeggios May 2014

Last call

Prophets in suits spell your name across the rails

in black-and-white pictures, hung up like wet laundry

Afraid of drying, the words in your last breath climb

towards the approaching train lights.

At sunrise, I hurry to pick up the vowels, but they bite my hands,

cursing me for hoping you’ll burn

slowly, for attempting to steal your voice

so you wouldn’t die screaming

#death #sickness

Last Arpeggios Apr 2014

Midnight shanties

These days,

streets are slippery – sleet pushes people into shanties

always after midnight; the alarm

sets itself,

conditioned to the sound of the door

closing, while ticking off the leaves

on the doorstep.

(Seems like autumn begged their boots to stay.)

The floor groans

under the weight of winter

in their breath

As if caterpillars in lands without spring

came in, hoping

to be pinned to the walls

Last Arpeggios Mar 2014

To be young with you

To be young with you,

(to hug with rusty elbows, screeching
beneath damp spring attire
from a hundred and seven seasons ago
to untangle the wrinkles of regret
that distorted our smiles
and rearrange our faces into hymns
for the lives we didn’t live
In the midst of it all: the comfort
of rediscovering
the shyness behind your ears)

To be young with you.

Last Arpeggios Jan 2014

The edge of loneliness

Sleeping
in the lap of a *****
where wind promises
threats of silence,
kindly attracting my hair
to the steep
abyss:
A life-long longing
to fall into
a basin of nothing.

My feet blister, bragging
wounds of having walked
-liars.
they’re just grazes
from the bricks in my boots,
sculpting my body on the edge.
Without wind
I could climb bare-feet
but I’m out of breath
and the corners of my eyes
are already falling
down