touka

touka Dec 2017

sarcodes

how nice it must be
to its silk as soot and sod
to sleep so with me

someday in a softer dream

#haiku

touka Dec 2017

i push through some dull ache
to finish my morning
stretch my muscles of their wake
press on my palms
to rid them of the throe, the throb
the flowerbed that thistle haunts
to warn other blooms against their wants

at least I know I can

#pain #ache #poem

touka Dec 2017

december 4th:

a mother cooing in tune with her son
elbows rested on the finished mahogany of his crib
as the fever broke through his onesie
like my night sweats

touka Dec 2017

lightheaded

the subsets of his haunts
organized and packed away
tugged and pulled and pushed
like hefty parcels and
the tension in his fingertips
like the prickle and pop
of pins under and over and in his skin

and the subtle swell of dread
swirling in his stomach
from a nightmare he had the other night
the happenings in which he couldn't quite remember
but it bothered him more that he couldn't
perhaps if he could just remember
it would clue him in to the catalyst of the day
if his subconscious had predictive powers, that was.
but he felt like something not good was going to happen
and whenever he had that feeling–which was, ad nauseum–something not good usually, eventually transpired
and that was enough to let him know

like something trembling the equilibrium
in the labyrinth behind your ears
to pull him like his hefty parcels
left and right, side to side
the feeling would tug on him about his day
but he wouldn't change its course

"december's sweating, don't sweat it all
I'll dance with the dog paws or dance with the hogs"

touka Oct 2017

après tu

shroud me in
his warm silhouette
do soften me still
to the tugs on the barrow
to the honeypot and rosa peace sitting
some too fragrant in the sill
to tendrils of queen anne's lace
silking up the wheel

lost in his travail
to his oil soiled clothing
and pearly white chrysanthemums
and lilies for my biding
when I might again
see him tinkering and typing

to oleander twining
'round the spine of his shade

to the sweet scent brewing in the kettle
so, soon his perennials
settle into themselves
coiled wire around their stems
to conserve his oeuvre fair and open on their shelves
so, if not much else, I might then keep them blooming well

#love

touka Oct 2017

pangs

as unlikely in love as

sand is not to toss under the wind

the southside is to sleep at night

stone is to soften against your head

as rain is to not be wet

but the stinging sensation
when you left

"the pain isn't real, just chemicals tellin' my brain how I ought to be"

#romance #love #bleh #pain

touka Oct 2017

cloudburst

and without much provocation
the cloud burst overhead, lent so weary to its own weight
the small boy froze, gripping the handle of someone else's umbrella so tightly that his knuckles turned white, quietly trying to assure himself that he could survive
until the rain would calm to a gentler drizzle
though, that was not the case as soon as imagined, as the heavy pour droned on amaranthine, despite best hopes and wishes, and the soft, shaken murmurs of a song pleading it to retire for... some indefinite amount of time
so he settled under a nearby storefront, sitting damp and cold,
biting his fingernails and tensing as he waited for the sobering flashes, the booming clacks of spring thunder that were sure to round the horizon as the storm made its way, and...
crash! bam!
he quickly lowered his head, recoiling and pulling his knees to his chest.
he supposed this was it, this was how he would die.
crash! bam!
he let out a low sob
and in a single moment, quite like the faint visions of life played out tauntingly in front of eyes in the moments just before death,
he recalled kicking his brother and making him cry
he recalled taking the juice box and not saying "thank you"
and he recalled affirming to his mom, after her rigid instruction, that, yes, he would be back before it would start to rain.

who used to be afraid of thunderstorms

#thunder #thunderstorm #anxiety #rain