tonight,
my shadow settles
in a different corner of the world
and his obscures me
content to hang on my frame
shielding any light from my eyes
faith's grievance -
the gravest sin I'd commit
salt to skin
faith's only albatross -
the bits of faith I'd toss
like Ms. Greenwood's dress
into the darkest parts of New York
like I think of my name
winking into the fixed abyss
indifferent to its prior disguise
when it does not leave the lungs enough
and on the height of my fuss,
inspiration flees
like a sour gust through the city at night
- a hint of death
a tinge of it on my hands
the void I fault for its expanse
promises to snarl his shadow from my shoulder
invites me into its limbo
desperately whines my title
it calls with little confidence,
but I linger to step in
flecks of gray interrupting the black
wafting,
purposeless black
will I?
will I live, wander the world's breadth
with the impetus of two dead legs
or will I become a cry of breath?
I flirt with two dooms,
swinging like a two-phase-moon;
stay, go, stay, go
weighing the whimper of my soul
against brain's drive to die alone
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
tonight,
my shadow settles
in a different corner of the world
and his obscures me
content to hang on my frame
shielding any light from my eyes
faith's grievance -
the gravest sin I'd commit
salt to skin
faith's only albatross -
the bits of faith I'd toss
like Ms. Greenwood's dress
into the darkest parts of New York
like I think of my name
winking into the fixed abyss
indifferent to its prior disguise
when it does not leave the lungs enough
and on the height of my fuss,
inspiration flees
like a sour gust through the city at night
- a hint of death
a tinge of it on my hands
the void I fault for its expanse
promises to snarl his shadow from my shoulder
invites me into its limbo
desperately whines my title
it calls with little confidence,
but I linger to step in
flecks of gray interrupting the black
wafting,
purposeless black
will I?
will I live, wander the world's breadth
with the impetus of two dead legs
or will I become a cry of breath?
I flirt with two dooms,
swinging like a two-phase-moon;
stay, go, stay, go
weighing the whimper of my soul
against brain's drive to die alone
hope - he bends like a lion
like one does to drink
looks into the mirror of my face
he urges; he is thirsty
does so silently
well, I am the stream
who else will drink of me?
as if I am as still and quiet as some water
and I cannot beg access to his lips
for I've none of my own to part
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