A view obscured in clarity
Overlooked in surety
Determined by a nation
Inclined

Mom’s words cut like a knife, honed razor sharp
Which saddened my new wife
Mom now, after years of strife
Says I married up in life!


© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

The feeling
of a hot blade
on my wrist

How gentle is
its sharpness
How soothing is
the stinging pain

Sometimes that’s the
only way I could
remind myself; that
this body of mine,
or at least parts of it
still want to heal

I first heard the
lullaby in the
womb.
It has a pulse
and rhythm.
It was embedded in
my tissue and cells.
And when I was shot out,
****** and naked,
the cord was cut.
The journey began.

At five years old,
I remember closing
my eyes, and lying
down to go to sleep,
it felt like I was
being rocked.
I wonder if the
subconscious mind was
remembering the
rhythm of the womb.
My Mom--pregnant with me
walking upstairs--downstairs,
elevators
escalators
movement
pulse,
the eternal lullaby of
the womb.
When I closed my
eyes, it felt like I
was being rocked.
It felt like I was
in a swing;
back and forth.
Easy, like a fragrant
spring night.

I feel and hear the
pulse--the rhythm,
the heart in everything.
In footsteps--in the wind,
in the ancient river, and
in the mermaid's song.
I feel it in
the beating of the
hummingbird's wings.
I see it in
Van Gogh's jagged sky,
in the flight pattern
of the wasp.

There is a rhythm in
death and birth.
Oh my God, the rapture of
the rhythm of love and
joy--so sublime.
The primal beat of a
heartbreak--pain,
like painting with
blood.
So real
too lucid.
Icarus, let's fly into
the sun, drunk on
***** or cheap wine.
We'll escape--liquid smooth,
until our wings melt,
and we fall back down,
crash
to the pulse
the rhythm
***  ***
***  ***
***  ***.

Sometimes,
I wish I were
a rock.

your
words
flow

thrown
its sharpness
in my heart

bleeding
with another words
that'll flow
and throw
its sharpness
to you

It was not safe
So carefully laid out
Placed in a pattern
So neatly arranged
And I ruined it

I remember the flow
The way it seeped onto
The white parchment
Dying, staining it
A deep ruby shade of
re-
Black
A deep shade of Black

It shimmered
And seemed to dance when
Reflected by my
Dim lamp
And I was smiling

But the pain of my words
It was what forced me to
Destroy them
My organised statement
Simple, to the point, and
Something I wished to take back

So I did
I took all it back
And because of this my hand
Is soaked in
blo-
Ink
My hand is soaked in ink

And I regret
Nothing