The hours are seldom heard passing
But pass they do
In sleek fitting jackets and earth-toned shoes
Down the streets we never imagined
Each step shaking the air between itself and our ears
As if trying to wake the earth from its dream
Screams we will never hear above the raucous laughter
We haven fallen too far, too quickly to sleep
Each sunrise breaking dawn for empty seats
Swelling with glory of which we have forgotten the taste
There are goosebumps on my tongue well worth remembering
There are apple pies and turkey dumplings
The sound of leaves breaking beneath my feet
There is a chill in the air only the hours know
It is the air I have learned to breathe

I am swaying in circles:
knees locked, eyes glazing,
tasting each second as it splits on my chin.
there is time on my shirt sleeves.
there are dancers in my grin.
there is the semblance of someone else
looking within.

I am stitching myself
seamlessly, one-handed,
into the fibers of horizons and moons.
there is a music of planets.
there is *** in its tune.
there is the new-green innocence of a bride
and indefatigable groom.

I am what I have always meant to be;
Though my teeth and tongue betray me,
Though my hands twist knives in my back,
Though my love falter and compassion cease,
Though my utmost effort be found wanting.
There is a lion inside these ribs
Ambling about the graveyard.
I am every intention and ghostly footprint
I would have left in the sand.
I am every word still chained to my gums,
Every tear I have not shed.
I am the music heard in the empty places
Between my body and those I love.
I am always more than you see of me,
More than the expanse of my limbs.
I am forests of sycamores and birch,
Whitewashed and shedding who I was,
Becoming who I mean to be.

It's a stunning place,
this sunny place,
night on the brink of day.

Swaying sideways,
tip the soldier,
let morning carry me away.

Still clothed in heavy
midnight robes, the steady
dawn has made its way.

shatter my bones.
this love
must
be more than a
flesh wound.

I shiver
at the thought of you;
your voice
strumming my spine,
still broken.

Sweet sleep
do come.
Rest within these weary eyes.
Rest and let tomorrow come.
Broken and torn,
tattered beauty.

let us then digress into the earliest of pleasures
let us cover ourselves in dirt and grime
may we throw our tantrums well

let us then digress into the earliest of horrors
let us come to the edge of that tranquil pool
may we refrain from weeping at our reflection



it is so strange
this brilliance covering itself in mud
this gift bestowed to the broken
these blessed who break themselves at the sternum
these free and bleeding souls
those much too lost to ask for directions
those helpless meandering
beautiful minds