"convulsed" poems
notice the convulsed orange inch of moon
perching on this silver minute of evening.
We’ll choose the way to the forest—no offense
to you,white town whose spires softly dare.
Will take the houseless wisping rune
of road lazily carved on sharpening air.
Fields lying miraculous in violent silence
fill with microscopic whithering
…(that’s the Black People, chérie,
who live under stones.) Don’t be afraid
and we will pass the simple ugliness
of exact tombs,where a large road crosses
and all the people are minutely dead.
Then you will slowly kiss me
51.7k
Let out my ego and sense of order this comes from beyond this comes from the me between me if I listen I may hear it speaking, it's sleeping but talking and rocking, not still, and perhaps it awakens, perhaps it will open its eye but we mustn't depend on the idea that once he has opened his eye the whole dream of the world will just fade like my dream tomorrow morning which I already know I'll forget, like specific angles and perspectives of specific places in space and time that have slipped away but once in a while break through to consciousness
Like the sliding breakaway walls of Timber Drive elementary school
Or the rippling pond into which I fell and the old smile and laugh of my flesh and blood rescued me and held my body afloat in the air for a moment; and once I was the proud owner of a wind powered hovercraft, another invention spilling out onto the table of attention like the actual pig intestines the popular girl's parents used in her science fair project, the one that dragged on until the last monkey refusing to be locked up with the windows 98s in the archaic computer lab was tranquilized and convulsed on the gym/cafeteria floor in front of the PTA, who'd peed blood all down the front of their sweatpants; he was firing wildly hoping to commit suicide by zookeeper
Not knowing that humanitarian laws would prevent him from achieving his bliss, for the monkey knew as the Gnostics did that to bring a child into this black iron prison is a sin.
Did the Jonestown Kool-aid free them from the prison? Do they now walk among gods within the kingdom of the heavenly spirit? None shall know until the 13 crystal skulls are re-assembled and total gnosis emanates to the people in globe-spanning shockwaves.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
They don't breath under water they told me
I did think they were joking at first
but when a ship hit our rocky outcrop
they were screaming underwater
I tried to pull some down to the depths to safety
they just convulsed in spasms and died
as many as I tried to save
they just died in my arms
screaming underwater
Do they all die this way
with no gills and no will to live
yet I know they breath through their skin
I did read that in sapien law
in water they take no oxygen in
and so all that I tried to save
just died screaming underwater
my fins will be clipped now
**** just like my bloodied wings
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
Just Like A Woman
You focus on the act,
The ridiculous derring-do,
Laughing at me
Cause I chased away
In my rumpled ******
The woodpecker that convulsed
Our house at 5:00 AM,
With a decorative pillow.
Focus on the results, says the
Results-oriented man.
Has Woody ever returned?
No and his fate is still unknown,
He may fly forever neath our trees,
But now he knows to stay away
From me and the risk of my pillowy pillory!
P.S. I may (or may not)
Choose to disclose
That upon my return
The house still shook,
From someone's uproarious, convulsed
Laughing at a city boys country heroics.
10:30am
June29 2013
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
He hates daylight with sense of a mole,
He has curtains all over his chambers, to preserve
His heart nocturnal, where he derives joy
As he does glory from his night shift
As a mortician at the city morgue,
Where I was deadly drunk one night,
And fallaciously declared dead by a nurse
And got dumped into this domain of the AG
Fellow drunkards who became sober to cry
For help out of the morgue, the AG clubbed
Them lethally to final death, forget of drunkardness
Another sick person un-convulsed back to life
He thrashed his skull with a menacing club,
Only two strong hits sent the misfortunate man
Back a really rigor mortis, finally dead,
I chose not to breathes loudly till dawn
When the dayshift mortician came on duty
I pleaded for his favour and sympathy,
He culled me out of death, I went home
Running swearing to myself never to drink again!
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
Constipation, ************
excitation, evaluation
Hold on a minute
HIS Creation
The mind went blank
the body convulsed
no-one knows why
but theories abound
Expectation, demolition,
misinterpretation, damnation,
Wait a second
MY Creation
I did so much
in my chaotic youth
probably nothing to blame
only me and my likes
Infuriation, retaliation,
malediction, apprehension,
stop-look-listen
THEIR Creation
It seems unfair
but why despair
put it in perspective
certainly things could be worse
Demoralization
Intimidation
Expectation
Presumption
Assumption
Palpitation
Aggravation
Ball of confusion
Trepidation
Holy ****
A VIOLENT Creation
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 3:31 PM UTC
Through that window-all else being extinct
Except itself and me-I saw the struggle
Of darkness against darkness. Within the room
It turned and turned, dived downward. Then I saw
How order might-if chaos wished-become:
And saw the darkness crush upon itself,
Contracting powerfully; it was as if
It killed itself, slowly: and with much pain.
Pain. The scene was pain, and nothing but pain.
What else, when chaos draws all forces inward
To shape a single leaf? . . .
For the leaf came
Alone and shining in the empty room;
After a while the twig shot downward from it;
And from the twig a bough; and then the trunk,
Massive and coarse; and last the one black root.
The black root cracked the walls. Boughs burst
the window:
The great tree took possession.
Tree of trees!
Remember (when time comes) how chaos died
To shape the shining leaf. Then turn, have courage,
Wrap arms and roots together, be convulsed
With grief, and bring back chaos out of shape.
I will be watching then as I watch now.
I will praise darkness now, but then the leaf.
1.8k
One day,
I swallowed up the void.
Not too much at first, I didn't want to be greedy.
But enough that it grew into my hair,
turning it black.
I swallowed up the void again.
It settled heavy in my gut.
It was sweet at first, then gave way to an unsettling metallic aftertaste.
Still, it was addicting, intoxicating.
I needed more.
I swallowed up the void again,
hungry for empty.
The void is not black,
like so many others say.
No, the void is, in fact, a kaleidoscope of brilliant color
I swallowed up the void again.
There seemed to be an endless amount.
My eyes showed me what I had previously been blind to.
I could see the void others swallowed up.
His denim jacket wasn't for fashion some days.
I swallowed up the void again.
This time, it caught in my throat.
I gagged and my body convulsed,
an unsuccessful attempt to rid of the poison.
The void coated my lungs, stealing my breath, my life.
I thought I swallowed up the void,
but the void had swallowed up me.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
I woke up
to a nightcalm-shattering
cell phone ringtone.
"Can I come over, baby?"
"What time is it?"
"I don't know 3, 4."
**** eyes roll, sigh,"yeah I guess so."
"Don't sound too excited," Molly said, Molly laughed.
"Are you going to be long?"
"Nah, I'm already outside."
"Awesome. Okay, let me put on some pants."
I opened the door.
Her hair was up.
Her skin was the color of milk.
Her eyes were grey.
She held keys in the palm of her hand.
"I like your hair," Molly said, Molly laughed.
I said it was getting ridiculous,
she put her hands on my chest,
the tension in the tips of her fingers grew,
exploration, exploration.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Nah, can we just sit on the couch?"
"Sure."
"How's your fella do-"
She kissed the words, to lock them in.
She started to tear at my shirt,
I stalled her advances,
turned the tables,
I'm done with being prey.
I pulled her up gracelessly,
I fell through her crimson shirt,
through her black bra,
I drank each ounce of her chest,
I grabbed her nape gracelessly,
her eyes briefly frightened,
turned sinister,
turned to validation,
turned to encouragement.
I mapped her stomach,
made quick work of her
cotton shorts,
I bit the waistline of
her lace,
she clung to my coagulated hair,
I laid her to the ground,
we warred atop notebooks and
***** t-shirts,
kissing vigorously in an attempt
to stay far ahead of morals, of reasoning.
I feasted on her hip bone,
she tugged at my shirt,
no,no,no.
I removed the lace with my teeth,
her breath was exciting,
I feasted on the insides of her thighs,
she convulsed,
cursed,
grabbed tight to shirt, to hair, to every piece of furniture near.
Molly's pupils, irises, all grew.
Molly's panting ******* moans all rose.
Howling.
Peaking, breaking, releasing, falling,
sighing,
sighing,
breathing.
I wiped my lips with the back of my arm,
got up,
went to the bathroom,
used some mouthwash,
Molly walked in behind me,
"Things have been going better with him, lately, actually."
"I'm ******* happy for you guys."
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
My sister Annick fixed me, locked me in, with cold, blue eyes as she sat down slowly next to me at the table. “I’m a surgeon,” she said, not quite casually, “a board certified surgeon.”
I give her a questioning look.
“I could take your steak knife,” she says, eyeing it, “plunge it into your neck - and oh, sure, there’d be a question or two but in the end - I’d walk away clean.”
“I don’t think,” I start saying…
Tears well to near overflowing in her turquoise eyes. “I came in - officer” she says, sounding stunned and surreal. “She was having a convulsion, she exhibited severe cyanosis, I couldn’t clear her airway, it was a classic tonic-clonic seizure.” she goes on, her voice rising to near panic with the diagnosis.
“You’d never…” I start to interrupt but she gently covers my mouth with her left hand while gathering the handle of the serrated silver steak knife, expertly, into her right hand.
“I attempted to perform a tracheostomy,” she continues in a traumatized but professional voice. “but as I began a transverse incision above the sternal notch,” a tear rolls down her cheek, “Anais suffered a severe generalized-onset seizure and convulsed, forcefully into the knife”
“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” I confess suddenly, as if under oath, in court.
There’s a moment of still silence.
“And WHEN,” she asked, wiping away the tear and turning the knife for a downward ****** “Were you going to MENTION IT?!”
“NOW! - before dinner!” I look around the empty room - for help - for a sympathetic jury. “It was an ACCIDENT! - I’m SORRRRYYYY!” I plead.
My sister slowly sets down the knife and says deliberately, purposefully - like a death sentence: “My Valentino sheer floral-lace top is STAINED.”
”I can FIX it!” I insist in a rush.
“Keep OUT of my room - and my stuff.” she grumbles, “And REMEMBER what I said,” she adds as she pats the knife before getting up and leaving the room.
“I WILL’” I promise to her back.
A second later, my mom sweeps in from the opposite direction.
“What’s up” she asks.
“Nothing” I almost whisper, head down.
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 10:04 AM UTC
this is how a
part of my
new self
starts:
she
and i
hook up at
a party, in
November, a bit after Halloween
my costume is stars on black, hers sharp teeth
and sharper lines
she sinks them
into
me
and
I am
so much more
lost than I’d thought
I could be, not with her, not her, not her
not her, but there we were, stealing kisses
burning bruises
onto her
exposed
throat
and
I liked
it enough
to keep going
and i had another her, and a him, as well
i knew things i hadn’t before, somehow
knew what a gasp
did to skin,
to a
heart
and
i was
just worthless
lost in my lust
and in spirals, finally confirming
what i thought i’d known, experimental
results for my
eyes, ears and
starving
mind
what
affects
the levels
of arousal
in a man, in a woman; i learned
how a moan can amplify and set sparks
running down your
back, through your
spine and
on
i
stumbled
took her hand
again, slammed
us into the doorway and hid the light
from her, closed the distance and stole something
she couldn’t take
back from me,
not just
yet
then
i placed
my hands on
her thighs, drew from
her conclusions enough for a lifetime
skin convulsed under mine; i was in control
could play her like
sin plays man
this, I
knew
and
know, i
know it still
it isn’t gone
my fingers sing, sometimes; that’s reverie
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
Convulsed, Antagonized and Exasperated!
That your drive, your will has been amputated!
I told you tomorrow, We'll start anew,
Its not been tough to just get through,
To just get by, to just live life,
Its easier to lie, to live without strife,
Your a hollow shell built by your own insistence!
A putrid scab of your former existence!
Your not worth it! your not worth the air!
How can you breathe! how can you bare!
To look at life with such vaulted illusion!
You've left me in such utter confusion!
I don’t know how you are so angry,
After all, it was your absence that made me,
No ones here to help hold me up,
No one here, I’ve ran out of luck,
So ill just sit back, let life run its course,
Just let go, ignore the remorse,
I’m done, its time to take action!
This is over, **** your satisfaction!
She held your hand! a visage of hope!
He held you up! He helped you to cope!
They looked at you! a look so beguiled!
Mother and father! look straight at their child!
Don’t bring that up, Its not even fair,
Its such a lie, that they ever cared,
I’m all alone that’s the way it should be,
So walk away and let me be me,
So sorry for yourself when its others you hurt!
Your personality shall break unless you now reassert!
The tears from your mother should bring you such pain!
Your joy ride is over! its time for my REIGN!
ILL BE SCRATCHING AND SCREAMING AND GASPING FOR AIR!
MY WILL REMAINS UNBROKEN, THIS IS OVER I SWEAR!
THIS CHANGE YOU'LL SEE, IT WILL BE SO UNTYPICAL!
THIS CHANGE IN ME! THIS CHANGE WILL BE BIBLICAL!
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 2:11 PM UTC
Is there any better feeling
anything more freeing
than standing naked
in a Summer rain?
It is a sensual kiss
from the Mother that bore you
and the Monster
that will devour you.
The air that caresses you
is the motion of the Earth
vibrating on your skin
the transfer of momentum
from the spinning ball of Blue
to the gaseous sphere encasing it
to your body
to You.
You're dancing on the roof
as we fly through the galaxy.
The water that now licks
your entire body
was once part
of a vast sea
wherein the first chemicals
melted together
locked into each other
and twitched
and copulated
and convulsed
and conspired
to move
and to Live.
The molecules that once held
the first Life
All Life
surrounding you
touching you everywhere
setting your skin on Fire.
It is your planet
Making Love to you.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
I picked up love once,
It, stranded on the pavement, wilting in the heat,
One arm stretched to the soil,
The other at me.
I bent over and cradled love in my hands.
It's frail and delicate thorns
Broke under the light pressure of my palm,
It's paper-thin petals shattered into broken and dismembered sorrows.
Although secure it seemed to long for something else.
It twisted and turned,
became restless in my safety.
It thrashed and shook, it convulsed,
And wept silent open wounds.
It began to decay, burning what was important on the inside into embers of ignored pain.
From beauty to remarkable,
from remarkable to beauty again.
And from beauty the tragic of love was gone.
I picked up love once.
And when I put it down, only ashes remained.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
*the tape spins . . . in over-reel
haphazard lines in convulsed black*
1.
Clear and still lake . . . hardly a ripple on the blue matter
Step to water’s edge . . . hesitant eyes briefly touch the surface
Heel lifts into the arch of civilisations hanging . . . humming inside-tunes
Foot pendulous and . . . toes dipping aching-slow sink in
clean and . . . s u b m e r g e d
Then rising, a single drop escapes . . . sweet h e a l
2.
Step forward . . . into the void . . . it has been waiting . . . sacrosanct
the flourish . . . to reach . . . constant . . . oh, it is here
finally
( . . . )
*this is
the truest understanding
to me . . . undeniable life-spring*
S T, 29 Augmented 2013
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
Look through the fence, you see that beast there?
That tense lump of muscle and mange-ridden hair?
That's old Scrapyard Spike, and this is his lair;
Don't tread in his yard on adventure nor dare.
Old Scrapyard Spike, he's been a-weathered for years;
In his chain-link domain, rain-soaked despair.
Unfed in the morning, watered only with tears;
Unsheltered from squalls, corroded by glare.
Now poor Scrapyard Spike wasn't always so old,
When he was a puppy, they told him they loved him;
But when he grew up, he had to make friends with the cold,
For with the clink of a fence, he was thrown out on a whim
So Spike spent his days alone with his chain;
He sweltered at noon and slept wet with the rain;
And all those who passed him discounted his pain:
"He's just an old cur" was the daily refrain
And then one cold day, a girl found her way in;
Her flesh on her bones, blood coursing unspilled.
Old Spike smelled her first, his chain went a-slitherin'
And the lost child stood rooted, her every nerve chilled.
The silence of metal, broken plastic and glass,
The beast came a-running, his chain length a ploy;
And jaws opened wide as he lunged for the lass;
But when his head pressed her thigh, he whimpered with joy.
Old Spike raised the call with a manticore's thunder;
A summoning cast with his lungs' every strain.
She petted him gently, whose care she was under,
Though his poor heart convulsed as he looked back at his chain.
The clangor succeeded, a blue-clad protector
Saw the beast at her heel, and he drew as he lept;
An ounce of hot metal found Scrapyard Spike's skull,
And the last thing he heard was his friend as she wept.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
A world convulsed at fallacious lies,
With a pensive reality,
And caliginous skies.
A night as dark as the depths of hell,
Malignant capabilities,
Your sinister voice I know too well.
Due to your influence,
I have become oblique.
Dreading all the words
That you speak.
Am I truly the one you seek?
Now I have prospected
and also detected
That the only way to be consummate
Is to remain idyllic, and appreciate
The taciturnity you’ve effected
I apprehended
That I should have escaped while I could
But I pretended
Like I misunderstood
That you were do good.
You insanity was cloaked by a hood.
I’m not endorsing you to deliver my downfall,
Aforementioned here, is my last stand.
Absent from reality I’ve become,
Just to plummet down this peak once more,
Due to the careless vivacity
of the fellow that is blind,
to his doings unkind.
And now, all you do is provoke
The constant fear that I have chosen
the wrong bloke.
And for this I have frozen
A friendship that was golden.
I really shouldn’t crave you
but for some reason
I can’t abdicate.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
she drank slow but had this skip in her dance.
she ordered me a gin and tonic on the rocks.
she eyed me across the street (i’m losing track of time).
she marched in front of me, leading me
to an apartment. the walls were painted black and the
lights were a shade of blue rain.
there were two floors in the penthouse.
she giggled when i told her how nervous i was.
i felt my glass shake, this mixture of pale ale and oranges
resembled a tsunami.
my eyes convulsed like cracked sidewalks during
earthquakes; my teeth were grinding, (not like a dance to ******
but rather the last lick of hope for the protagonist
in slasher flicks screaming for help).
she told me everything would be okay.
she undressed herself and told me god doesn’t
watch her when she sleeps; rather, he
takes the night off and works overtime in the morning.
i fell in love on the second floor of her apartment,
i don’t know why it took me two stories to tell her.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
Red rained lips of the blue winds soaring.
It is all coming together like reckless memory magnets
Alone with prize high,
Painful pulse for the month's ending,
Rain convulsed,
As you stretched one hand out.
Laughter drips for you reached about the stacking strain,
Drained out dry of bright champagne.
Red rained lips of the blue winds calling.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 9:06 AM UTC
He opened the door as so many times befor the old man not giving thought to a stranger
inside in wait.
His smell gave him away even in the darkness it's always that moment just befor that
excite's me so.
As his feeble hands flicked the switch he gave no thought to a intruder
he only cursed the light.
Godammit! I just bought that bulb!
His voice like a memory lingred within my thoughts of hatred.
The mouse was in the vypers cage and I thrived in knowing the strike would
be savage in nature.
He stumbbled his way to the kitchen and as he was met by only the promise of more darkness it was then he would hear my hiss.
Hello Jim it's been so very long.
His eye's were so perfect in there grasp of terror for he knew the devil well.
Who's there? Get the hell outta my house I'll call the cops!
I couldnt hide my laughter Oh Jim how can you call the cops
When the phones dead besides didnt you miss me?
I dont know what your talking about who the hell are you?
The fear was a drug I knew his heart couldnt take much more but much like the phone he fumbled for it wasnt the only thing that would be left dead in this house.
He staggred back blind was the mose that soon would know my fangs.
My arms around wrapped around the weak old fool he let out a cry but I muffled it
with leather glove.
Oh dear uncle Jim dont you remember me?
You said I was always your favorite you sick ******* *******
How many were there ?
What's wrong are you scared good you ******* freak!
I felt his body tremble just as helpless as he had made me feel
You know old man it's only fitting I should **** you for so long ago you killed me.
His withred lips began to speak my name but soon he felt the sting and the
blood choked the sentance from his mouth.
His throat slit I let the old man crawl painting his kitchen floor a crimsom of pure devilish delight.
I dropped the phone in front of him and enjoyed as he in a last effort to survive
dialed the numders the gurgling noise a sweet music to my ears.
What's wrong Uncle Jim you seem so unhappy?
He convulsed in the floor I watched my creator die in such a beutiful demise.
The sound so sweet to hear my memories were washed clean my past was dead with the
wrinkled old garbage in floor I drove the blade in agian thats for the past you
I drove it in again thats for that helpless disgusting feeling of filth.
I drove it deeper agian and agian blood painted me i was washed clean of his decay.
How i love family get togathers
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 5:40 PM UTC
I wanted her to live. I wanted to escape reality with her. To go somewhere peaceful. To find solace outside of the usual myriad of sounds and sights.
I wanted to take those little pills and find freedom like I always did, and so did she. So did she. So did she.
But there is no freedom, only a lack of personal imprisonment. It is ironic that our vision of "freedom" was enough to **** us. Poison. Pills. Little white pills. And a bottle of liquor to wash them down. To drown them.
So together we "escaped" reality's "prison" into the vast expanses of our hallucinations.
One more. Last one. Promise. **** that doubt and replace it with a little white pill.
Take a swig. Take a gulp. Take another. Let's make this crazy.
One more pill. Last one. I swear. Laugh with me. Drink with me.
Laugh with me.
Hey, hey, it will be fine, we're done. We're done. We're done so just relax. Float and fly, feel that high. Lay down and rest.
We should have stopped earlier.
We should have stopped earlier.
You know, we should have stopped earlier.
I am sorry. My bad.
So later comes and goes. She sits on the porch, smoking a cigarette. Smiles, all smiles. She is high, but she operates well.
I light a cigarette of my own.
I breathe in the smoke, let it coat my lungs. Watch it disappear as I exhale. She says something funny, and I laugh. She laughs, I laugh. It's hilarious.
She lives.
She lives.
She lives.
Unfortunately, that is a false reality. I give you the fake version to staunch the bleeding of insecurities and emotional detriment.
You see, I have mislead you. Fake. Fake. So fake, and how I wish it were not.
She never smoked that last cigarette. I guess to her, life was unimportant. Worthless. She was not seeking attention this time. She intentionally overdosed. She convulsed and died in front of me. I watched her swallow white after white and I didn't stop her. Her small framed body of innocence turned into an animal. Neglected, starved of love.
She is dead.
She is dead.
She is dead.
She will never exist beyond my memories. Beyond my dreams. Beyond her phantom visits to my vision. I am being followed. Stalked. Haunted. Chased. Hunted for a guilt trip.
Later, it's blade to flesh. Bottle to lips. Bleeding, regretting, wishing, screaming.
Anger, self pity, despair, depression, descent.
Cornered, frightened, spiraling into madness.
Welcome. It is with great pleasure that I invite you into my life.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
I've been thinking about our hug you left me with yesterday,
The one that convulsed my shoulder muscles and made my ribs cry just a little,
But a good cry, like the happy tears after holding a new puppy.
You said in that way,
As you have made a habit of
With sarcasm and sincerity,
"You'll always be my sweetheart",
And then you said that you won't call me your sweetheart in public.
That makes me so angry,
And you think I'm joking,
But I'm not.
Because I can't stop thinking about how those hugs and "sweethearts" are dwindling,
How each time you leave for a winter in the southern states
I cringe at the thought that I may never greet you for Easter next year.
And every time we find you asleep,
Open mouthed on the couch
We only panic for a second as to whether you will wake up this time.
You stand like a family monument,
So unique in composition,
With your structured titanium back and chiseled limestone arms that threw me playfully and carried me as your cowgirl,
And transformed our red, wooden house to sophisticated tan siding when I was too young to remember,
With your skin so dark from perma-tan I thought you were black when I was 6,
With your infinite woodworking skills and artistic envisions with architecture
That crafted dollhouses and swing sets for me at 8,
With your callused hands beyond remission and your ever bruising fingernails that paddled us down the Ausable at 13,
With your steel toed boots sewn into your feet that allowed me to dance on them till I was 15,
With your artificial heart valve and five open heart surgeries.
Once I thought it was instrumental, magical, the watch nestled under your ribs.
But now every time I get that gut squeezing hug as a goodbye I can hear that valve faintly tick,
And I pretend it's not your clock,
Trembling with each diastolic and Systolic murmur,
Gears cracking and eroding inside your kindled muscles,
Struggling to keep up with its more natural brothers inside that engulfing muscle,
That which reminds your family of
Your selfless and infinitely giving persona.
But it only reminds me that your days of rock polishing
And dentured smiles are ending rapidly.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC