"blackfish" poems
It's midnight and I love you.
In two hours, I will tuck you.
In one sleep, I will kiss you, with lips thankful, strong, and warm.
In two sleeps, I will guard you, 'gainst the rising summer storm.
In three sleeps, I will claim you, and never mar your skin again.
In three weeks, I will change who, you thought was in your Man.
I've spent four years in mourning, and eleven months in dread,
While the sliver sword of Damocles, dangles over my head.
I haven't slept enough or stayed consistent, falling on my heels,
But I've wept enough, and stay insistent, that my love is real.
I'm not selfish, I'm just sorry.
Like a blackfish pair upon the tide,
We're hurting cause the world just doesn't care what is inside.
I'm with you till the end, and then I'll carry you through the dark.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
I love you. Your heartbeat is my art.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
One more flower, one more fish
there is a pattern in all of this
yellow eyes, eyes that do not fit
sipping on pink thoughts of
forgiveness
and charm
there is no harm
in clouds and slipping on words to
let them out,
white noise in the back.
Blue that turns to black in
the corners of your eyes
time
that does not know
green
or the hues in-between
showing off parts that are
(sometimes)
better left unseen--
one more fish.
There is a pattern in the dark of
madness
there is a flower that cries with
a few sets of different eyes,
maybe not now or here
but all in due time
all in due time
all in due time
tears do not fall when they swim
in a lovemix of alcohol
Blackfish; still loved black.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
it's cold in the gut, like
that first time you had to throw
a sea robin back, even after
the hook had reached through his
left eye. cold like the flapping
of blackfish in a bush asphyxiating,
as i have all day. if dying as a
fish were so easy, oh how i'd love
to jump from the caves of anchorage
into the pacific; how ironic, an iron
islander on your brittle coast.
sometimes the way you hold your spliff makes
milk come out the bottom and i love to
watch it dance around your bottom lip.
i can't bring myself to scan the past, the
beads falling to my cheek refuse to
move, even in my highest doses.
sleeping without you,
it's free and slow but it's also 6am.
and what do i really want? with freedom?
with comfort? forgiveness wraps her white
chiffon around my breast, heart vibrating, but
the horns on my temples take it away.
those old relics, the constant frontal pyramids,
they rip everything open without my permission
and yet they hold the fire through which i thrive.
if you were here you would say, do not
take the seroquel. i listen even in your void.
sleeping without you,
it's a crater in my back, right now i
don't want you back but —imagine!
i wail right away when i see your
frown in my third eye, where would my
anchor be and how would you find sails?
and your hair, would it darken from
missing my fingertips? and my waist,
would it harden if you did not open its
harbors? and what about our hands?
the magnets in the lines of our palms,
they will probably tie cords to each
other until a loss of frequency.
most importantly, what would the
stars think? would they form the same angles
or would the earth be forced to move backwards?
sleeping without you,
i'm so enraged, but please don't
make me do it. you are not an ocean,
you're a fjord. glacial ice irises, a
buffer for the north sea's calamities, a
singular and diverse habitat. if i could no
longer rest my head on those whisper
waves, i'd stare at my palms all day,
i'd wait until they found your lifeline.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC