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 Nov 2014 shaffenstein
someone is sitting on the train laughing
and i think it’s probably me
and someone is sitting across from you on a crowded bus laughing
and i think it’s probably also me
and when you ask your lover why it took him so long to get here he won’t meet your eyes
there’s a voice in my head telling me to leave it alone
and it sounds an awful lot like you
i’m not a slaughterhouse. i’m not all-powerful, i’m not a god
there are dead bodies at my feet and i don’t know
how they got there
this isn’t like last time
you’re the one who wanted romance
it’s not my fault that i can’t feel anything
and there is someone in the back of your mind laughing at you
and this time it isn’t me
my name feels ***** at 2am when you’re tired
my name tastes like the end of the world, bottled up
a lit match at 2am when you’re tired
the bags under your eyes look like bruises,i wonder how you got them
and someone is sitting in your bedroom laughing
and this time it’s you
 Nov 2014 shaffenstein
 Nov 2014 shaffenstein
in the darkness he whispers your name,
and it's not a prayer, but it's not a goodbye, either.
war war war screaming at you from your sheets,
your pillowcase, that book lying open on the couch.
war war war underneath his fingernails
and all you can do is hold each other
(there's a heavy kind of magic in the air, today)
 Oct 2014 shaffenstein
canyon wren
sings her sweet song
perched upon
the piñon-

for my love
who lies beneath-
the cottonwood
twee twee twee


r ~ 10/3/14
  |.     song of the canyon wren
/ \
 Oct 2014 shaffenstein
she writes of the falling days
- knows them well, one can tell

simple things like string
and wrappings
autumn and swallows -
hollow places she has seen
in boxes and photographs

and so it is -  the falling days
the number of birds at my feeder are fewer
no more humming, no painted buntings
-only my homies come now, my vato birds, my mijas

the cardinal, both red and green
the nuthatch and chickadee, the titmouse-
all three
the wrens and finches, too-

and the blues still like to bathe
in the pyrex baking dish sun warmed
on a sunny day-serenaded by the mocking
one hopping from grub to worm below

- my usual feathered friends
not caring about the weather-fair or foul
and in the pale blue, a gull still laughs
at the folly of it all-

leaving goes slowly-
a spiraling, a gust of wind-
days slowly graying
shorter, lightly fading
- friends, they go

the falling days, change and leavings
leave me - well, you know...

i see the simple things
that soothe, like string
and wrappings, swallows -

- autumn, you know?

r ~ 10/6/14
inspired by the writing of Sonja Benskin Mesher
 Aug 2014 shaffenstein
she wore a soft white sundress
·weathered light cotton·
and when she stood just right
-in the August sun-
I could see clear through to Venus.

r ~ 8/24/14
|   diaphanous
/ \
 Aug 2014 shaffenstein
I saw a photograph today.
Old, Berlin, black and white-
black charred stumps-
blackened limbs.

When they bombed the Tiergarten,
did the trees hear them fall
in the forest?

r ~ 8/6/14
   |     Berlin 1945
  / \
i am the ******* puddle
sired by a spilled drink-
a brackish mix of
anxiety and ineptitude.

last night looms in the morning eclipse,
regret stews a visceral broth;
vengeful, my gut reminds me
nausea is the world's truest thing.
I don't think I'll ever be close enough
to you. Like so close
that I can feel your heartbeat
in every part of myself.
It seems weird to want to
open you up and check out your soul
but that's exactly what I want.
I need to see what you know
and what you've felt
and who you are.
Because right now you're just a name
and a pair of ever-moving hands
that just won't settle
on my body.

— The End —