"inhalations" poems
they danced in a dream
of bending shadows
face down
begging ***
all hungry back door paradise
ankles strapped on a foot worn floor
paint faced in whorey nights
with pin needle eyes
beded
blood crimson neon's
cut curtains
like kissing claws
so their bodies wouldn't forget
dark pleasures lightening
and biting tantra tantrums
they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy
breathing the others inhalations
foot sniffing ballet arch
in fastened Japanese melting red slippers
gazing upwards rectums prayer
solar eyed insurrection
finger by finger
clutching wrists like the grave
for bloods salty cove
an injured landscape
a dire pink desert
like bogs hold bones
a rave for a slave
covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets
soft on the feet
x rated amputee costume
made of blood and spit
look mommy no arms
a bellied tattoo
of hennaed homunculi
burning Candomblé Jejé, skull
black eyed beauty hissing
while accordion throated
rip tie tighten
another notch please
a dizzy *******
down silver fluted gullet
in a steamed up bath house
party of blotted sockets
*** kitten
kissed dead girls thighs
tremulous and stretched
a shimmering serum
like wide tubular channels
as pontoon edges slit
through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl
who thrills
her head a veiled Jehovah
saliva wagging tongue ****
a stuttering ****** dance
a hula hot momma in rubble
slapping hot lipped kisses
over starved darkness
along telegraphs avenue
melting eyes like butter
a globed pudding spill
******* drool drops of gold
and black river gladiators
slaughter lies
with every long stroke
between cascading squeals
paraphilias mausoleum
like tumbling eels
a scapegoat pulp fiction
chiseled in cement
******* rips
drip drip drip
babbling **** bubbles
**** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun
fire spats soil cherry clover
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
My body is the training ground for
All of the reject demons
My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight
To match with any worthwhile struggles so
My inner demons are over dramatic children
They do not wage wars
They throw tantrums
They stand inside my temples and pound the walls
When they do not get what they want
And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue
Then fall asleep when they get tired
Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset
My inner demons are pretentious
They call themselves demons
When they are more like imps
They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack
And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that
They broke something
Then press on my heart
Daring to call it an ache
My inner demons are clumsy
They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes
And slip and spill their handfuls of tears
At inopportune moments
As I tremble due to the ones
That have tripped and tangled themselves
In my heartstrings and vocal cords
Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them
And tear apart the inconveniences
My inner demons are shy
They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse
With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky
Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin
They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue
With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises
And hold themselves still against my capillaries
As if their presence might distract my blood from
Its daily circulation
My inner demons are hoarders
They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain
With reports and analysis of too many situations
And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses
Of each ventricle and aorta
Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas
Then pack extra breaths into my lungs
Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs
They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes
Hiding until they can forget themselves
My inner demons are moody
They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses
And pry open old ones with feathers
They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks
They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton
They tie my tongue with other tongues
And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings
They are self depreciating and they know that they
Are not worthy of their title
My inner demons are pathetic
I suppose they're right where they belong
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
*Hungered for a taste
of your elixir's essence,
drunken inhalations
of your poetry
a splendiferous whirl
of time & space 'tween
darkly scented moons
and sun's adoration,
blithe starry nights
amidst meditative new
dawn's effervesce,
spirited of the heart,
gleaned in the soul,
yearnings of another
chapter's paradise
universal experiences
etched of hourglass sand,
written upon endlessly
chimerical verses
wildflower gardens drenched
of dandelion's plum wine
swooning under a
hypnotic scripted spell,
intoxicating power
of unchained symphonies
dancing amongst skies'
released euphoria
resonating in a song's
reprised melodies,
breathlessness of delirium's
celestial pauses
in vaporous breezes'
unfurling undulation,
captivated by rhythmic
destiny reverberating in
loins' pleasurable calling
quenched of sacred
offering's quell
transcending earthly
persuasions' rhyme,
let me lick the nectar from
your poesy's insatiable lips,
sweet mercy's healing
captured in rapturous
surrender's reawakening ~*
*Je veux que vous tous,
tu me manques*
Ce que vous manquez de moi?
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
i remember that first night
how desperately you craved
to feel my lips against yours.
how worried you were when i refrained
from surrendering to your deep inhalations.
thoughts of uncertainty clouded your confidence
while your sense of comfort waned and ebbed
as my will held like a cliffside
against the ocean of your lust.
let me calm your worried mind now darling
it was not for lack of desire
that i held my lips pursed.
it was not detachment
that held my hands shy
of a passionate embrace.
i was lost in the shear comfort
of your presence.
your warm hands on my chest
felt as though they had been there
my whole life.
the weight of your leg across my hips,
so familiar that i was left confused by
the brevity of our acquaintance compared
to the depth i could see so clearly
in your glistening eyes.
it was in adoration for this precious moment that
i held myself satiated.
it was this same feeling that held me in fear
that our first kiss would not be the
electric explosion of beginnings
that we would hope to fuel our infatuation,
but that you would feel dissatisfied by the same ease
and placidity i felt.
i kissed you
in that way i felt i had for years and
with that practiced knowing hand
i pulled your lips in close.
they sang a story so old and meaningful
that i found a joy akin to returning home.
...
and since then
every moment shared,
every touch experienced,
every kiss given and
every kiss received
is a small unravelling of a truth that
i had long since forgotten:
that home is where the heart is.
...
and you have mine
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
they hit you everywhere,
bruises, slow faders,
pretty much all over,
spaced out, body and time
some, they come back,
months, years later,
enticing, devising,
with revelations perfect,
you melt with helpfulness
some claim they are born
with only questions and an
insatiable quest for knowing,
but line in the soil tween rows
is there for you not to cross
some proffer their pain,
asking for ablution and absolution,
from demons they wish to share,
but refusing the smoke of my offering,
that could cleanse both our inhalations
like highway men of yore,
they hit everyone, below the belt,
stave breaking into the heart,
slow bleeding, with answers
received in absentia and silence
until the till needs refilling, and they
renewed, reappear, reformed, with
perfect words, even better questions:
my portfolio of replies mostly go/grow
old, noting the obvious, we are socially
distance by age and geography and
degree, I free and clear to provide while
they just free to hit and run, one more time
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 9:11 PM UTC
I
here alone apart
I realise
we are marked by the tide’s turn
and that drawing back
long aching inhalations
intakes of more than breath:
the very filling of lungs
with white and various
sounds
of beach
of foreshore
floating
in the heavy air.
Its constantness,
everywhere
together
its everywhere and together
oneness,
though with such difference
scoured into the sand
by weather’s hand
by the wind’s rough play.
II
Shield the eyes
against the glare
against the pressing wind
spinning down and past us
out of the light noon-distant high-sunned
light,
glancing the tips of bejewelled waves,
dancing, only to fall to translucent hollows,
only to rise and follow
the wave before itself,
that, even now and finally,
breaks into a foamed lace,
a fragile flower spreading
across the sand and shore,
a coverlet for this bared flesh of land,
wet glossy shiny sun-lit wet,
yet drying beneath our gaze,
leaving the infinitely-tiny
grains of sand’s
dew to glisten,
to sparkle.
III
No pathways here
after the entrance
of footprints splayed
down the slight dune
through the ammophila
down to the hard sand the littered stone.
Only up and down
across perhaps
to the sea - from the sea.
Otherwise it’s up:
to sunward windward,
out out along the jigged line
of surf meeting sand,
a self-similarity,
a symmetry breaking on the shore.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Once
on the red tyre swing
we swung
in our red tyre dreams
we sung
songs of red
then we began to swing and swang and swung
till the tired red sun shone
throughout the world of a red tired toddler’s mind
the redness spread with tired red hands
and consumed every inch of our tired red skin
and there
under the red tyre swing we sat
swimming in the muggy air
breathing
inhalations and expectations of teens
waiting for a life of red faced busy faced love traced excitement
and then
we sat under that red tyre swing
an old couple looking out
our fond red tinted memories of tyre swinging joy
on the red tyre swing with our red tired limbs
and gray tinted minds with hair that once shone
with joy and laughter
and now here we lie under the red tyre swing
with the same tired red sun
tracing across the skin
with grey skin hair
and eyes
and we close them looking skyward past our red tyre swing
into the red eyelids that are all that remain
of our youth
the only unaffected view
for a couple of youngsters
aching to ride our red tyre swing into the red layered sky
at the sunset of our lives.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
The fog spread like peach jam
overtop the overpasses.
Deep inhalations
held in our tired palms
as we watched exit signs
pass by
and marked each mile
we could no longer turn back
further.
A colony of sparkling starlets
lay a glow on the dashboard.
A small slip of fumbling thumbs
or perhaps a trip
in the wrong direction
sent me backwards
a tipsy turn
or subconscious fear of directions.
But soon,
she found herself trapped
between diluted affections
and a car headed fast
in but one direction.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
With my head pressed on your chest
I listen to your breathing;
The rhythm of each breath
In harmony
With the pulse of each heartbeat
Like the lyrics of my favorite song.
Slowly waves of sleep
Wash over me
And the crests of my inhalations
Fall perfectly in tune
With the troughs of your exhalations,
And we drift off into different worlds
Together.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
*I loved you 'fore the beginning of time
mystical yearnings captivated my soul
endless longing of passion and
tenderness's absolute rapture,
intoxicated in love's sweet cherry wine
senseless I dance in whirling euphoria
my existence lies in the spirit of heart
let me be your moonlight eager to glimmer
the flower garden of thorn-less rose's bliss
power of wildflowers surrender to the sun,
beyond the starry night, void of space
transcending all earthly joys
an aura of splendiferous grace & adoration
fiery sacred honorings tormenting skies
hungering for your taste of passion
drunk in the inhalations of your ecstasy*
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Down from his gate,
two shadows donned courses.
A lighted shadow curved
keeping from lying gray besides the body,
harsh like pain, like combat.
Watching quietly,
the head rimmed red and strained.
Hit you back between indiscriminate, tasteless sounds
into an empty pail-
no one drawing inhalations.
Empty at yesterday; pulsed with exhaust.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
"1st Hello Poetry poem posted by C.C. Arshagra"
The heart is clear, and the blame unreal
The mirror is
too… the pool reflects you
Your world to ripple to the touch
The moving still beneath the breathing
Thoughts grasp lungs to hold the air
The fault-line’s severing; ‘Is’ releasing
All the windy while long
By exhalations’ dusk of time
The inhalations dawn and share
For lightness never parted now
A truth too bare
the trust was here
The honesty perhaps --too naked
And so the real of mind and reason
Enemies of songs you’ve written
Melodies of harm composed
By the very world you have conducted
To befriend your hands are now creating
The universe of all applauding
Every silent moment’s rest
Oh what … now chokes your heart’s become
And who has in the end been no one
Ever loved you as you are
Ever remained by your side
To never ever-judge the world whole
Or live to birth no fault or blame
Or ploy away the friendship
you
Your soul awaits the hug you’ve long for
© Copyright November 12th, 2013 C.C. Arshagra
press22publishing
from the yet to be determined unpublished manuscript series/project/book
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
Were my words....
the hands
that sculpted
the heartbeat
of your soul
into the breath
that passed
across my shoulders,
in places where
your fingertips
brushed back my
hair, exposing
the curve
of my neck...
Were my thoughts,
a bridge, I traveled
into a place where
time stood still,
save for the
moonlight whispers
of your...
Fantasy
cascading down
the passages
of my dreams,
turned the brightest
shade of scarlet
for the want of you,
burned
Monet to skin
I lay, undone
Longing to be
the Masterpiece
you create
with your touch,
aching to feel the
soul you paint
into my eyes
Glazed, windows
to the fire,
banked no more
let free,
to burn, cinders
Ash ascends,
quickens the breath
that become the
wings of crimson
glow, born of
inhalations of
distant blue...
graze the smoulder
that pierces the
horizon,
invisible heat,
seeking the
source with
eyes of touch,
requiring no
preordained
destination...
Let fall, the rain
Staccato,
to cleanse our
flesh, slick
with the wet
of salvations
thirst, strums
to move our
souls, to one
Twined
into frenzied limbs
I reach for
the fire in you
out of the ashes
let us rise, reborn
to worship
the heat of day
as you carve your
Absolution
into my palms
raised to the
glory of nights
inhaling sunrise
My words....
hands that sculpted
the heartbeat
of your soul
Moistened in
the reign,
fingerprints,
tracing the
press upon
skin, as they
tingle...
indulging
in a season,
somewhere in between
a winter without creed,
and the spring of our
confessions,
spilling over the banks
of our deliverance....
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
How often do we listen
To that pump inside of us?
What do your shallow breaths
Or controlled inhalations
Reveal?
Are you in tune
Or tone deaf
Playing yourself?
Erratic in rhythm
Or a constant tempo?
Losing your breath in amazement
Or monotonous throughout?
Experience each day.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
My pillows
echo soft and lingering memories
faintly entangled in your scent.
You are woven into my linens.
Left as a reminder of time,
in Heaven spent.
From this waking slumber
never shall I shake.
Intoxicating inhalations,
of our first impressions,
shy confessions,
laughs and tousled inhibitions
all left in between these sheets
. . .do keep me captivated
every morning that I wake.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Out of one seed
how many seeds again
to the ebon Earth
warm and returning?
Eternity presumed
in a worm-cast bedding,
rain-wet and brimming.
Open ended inception
of the dark and probable womb
making space for the determined
and all it's loose-tied light-wires
stringing off into every abyss.
Potential is Here,
still though not asleep,
she is very much alive and viable,
eyes wide beneath the surface,
her pacific inhalations
example for the dynamic,
her sighing a guide,
like a mother at length,
gently directing
the life of her child.
Out of the night
the light is risen,
out of the dusk,
a bent-spectrum slips.
In the void
there is no coming
or going,
no place else to where one may be banished.
In the open hands of odyssey
we are forever received.
Of the sojourn cyclic
myriad destinations meet in the middle
where a thousand flowers flame.
Out of one seed
how many seeds again
to the ebon Earth
warm and returning?
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
Please grasp me,
press me to your chest.
Hush my frenzied inhalations,
I can bear this pain no longer.
Dip your fore-finger,
across the roughed wake,
of my cheek.
Blot away the trauma.
Rest your chin
dangle its weight
my head -jeering-
screeching
little girl-
clutches her temples.
It flickers, clarifies.
Back and forth,
Rocking, in fragmented, jerking
motions- her underweight
figure slammed along.
Blood purges with each
maddened- hoarse gurgles
the spittle deposits at
the overhang of her lip.
Snagged in the animosity,
of gnawing, writhing inhumanity.
TASTE IT rusted copper
An ashing purple, crusty
and running over engorged rims
of milky cocoa.
Darling, tip out your tongue,
lap up the shrivels
of failed organs and deprived marrow.
Images, flicker.
Pulse, with the steady
throb of an aching yawn.
shift
Reality sweltering
Chilled moisture scoffs-
the nape of your neck.
Muddled, focus,
focus.
honing in
back-
and-
forth.
Rocking back and forth,
no good.
Not good enough.
No help.
Flicker
malicious snarls.
Fluctuating horror,
impales your upper thigh.
-SILENCE-
Whispering -hush-
-hush-
don't
let him hear
hush
whispers
Make it STOP
whispers
-hush hush-
help
ME
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
The sun spreads candy floss across a blue sky,
its drawing a sleepy starry blanket over a world tired of its own hustle and bustle
as it coughs a smokey sigh of relief and dismay,
a carbon-monoxide sympathy.
There is a heartbeat in my ears,
a tingle on my skin -
as I await dressed to the nines,
for a clock to chime one hour closer to nine o'clock
and to you.
Its an exhilarating mix of nearly there's and what-ifs.
There's a ring on a doorbell, familiar eyes smile back.
O, lord when did I become such a coward - look up -
look up - look up - eyes meet
as if for the first time - thump-thump tainted inhalations of breaths to short to say 'I'm fine'
my heart told me this was a good idea,
but I'm starting to think my heart''s a liar.
(Its probably just the wine)
Suddenly, a butterfly grazes a hand,
it becomes a white hot ember
thrilling and unabridged.
Its a tear of a dress, a scratch on a back, a familiar pleasure in an unfamiliar way,
Its a risk and reward
and the outside world closes its eyes and draws close
but not you and me,
not exactly,
not really,
not at all - no
not you.
not me.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
Well
said Henry
that would kind
of bring out the worst in me
I mean seeing her there
in our bed
with that fat excuse
of a guy
with that flat nose
and gut like a hippo
sure I tried to see
her point of view
even sat down for a while
while she came out
with all the excuses
under the sun
while he
the fat guy
put his **** clothes back on
saying nothing
but sort of squeaky sounds
and she got out of bed
**** naked
her eyes on me
all the time
her **** hanging there
as she moved
off the bed
and began putting
her clothes back on
all the time yakking
about why this happened
and why that happened
and I sat there wondering
what I was doing
just sitting there watching
them dress
saying nothing
just thinking of her
and the fat guy doing it
on our bed
wondering what
they were thinking of
as they were at it
and what went through their minds
when I came into the apartment
and saw them there
in the bed
Henry sighed
his girl dressed quickly
and the fat guy
had problems
getting his pants
over his big ***
and so
Henry said
I saw it saw them at it
and they kind of broke apart
when I opened the door
he big eyes
mouth open
his hairy arms
wrapped about her
and she tried to cover
her **** with the bedsheets
so I just sat down
not knowing what to say
knowing it ought
to bring the worst
out of me
seeing all that
but it didn't
I just sat noticing
the fat guy's ***
how he was struggling there
I almost got to helping him
on with his pants
but no I didn't
I looked at my girl
the girl who
less than a week ago
was making out with me
making all the I love you sounds
and promises of forever
Henry took out a smoke
and lit up
his eyes focusing
on the girl
taking in her shaky hands
her mouth speaking
almost screaming at him
the fat guy managed
to get in his pants on
and then began
to put on his shirt
and Henry inhaled
and watched
and his girl finishing dressing
pushed her fingers
through her hair
and still Henry sat there
and like I said
Henry uttered
between inhalations
it should have made me wild
ought to have stirred me
into action
but all I could think of
was how comes
she was wearing those earrings
while ******* the guy
why those
she could have worn others
I mean there was those
blue ones her mother gave her
the ones like blue ***** hanging
from her ears
but no
she had to wear the ones
I bought her
and that began to get me angry
and I glared at her and him
and blew smoke at them
then I put the cigarette
in the saucer
by the lipsticked stained cup
got up and rammed
my fist into his fat gut
and he went down
moaning about his hernia
or something
and she stood there
open mouthed
hands behind her head
her body stiff
as she watched the fat guy
hit the floor
Henry rubbed his fist
gazing at his girl
as she sat down
on the edge of the bed
looking at him
her big eyes
like dark pools
where only the brave go
or **** fools.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:33 AM UTC
another one!
another one!
another one?
YES!
these are the days that remind me of you
look where we are! standing right in front of each other
wondering if it'll ever be enough, I want it to be.
pink background that turns my eyes black, shows my skin
how to shrink close to my bones, shows my insides how to
expand and layer and peel, repeate old habits, accept all.
Say, Yes! yes always to all ways because the barriers of love
are insecurities easily torn down in the moments before sleep
and release.
I'll let you go, watch you sink
ring myself out, bring my concentration out in a wet handful of your saliva
stick my tongue out for you to catch, flap it around in a white line of purity
based around my neck: inhalations!
destruction of self-pity
here we go again!
here we go for the first time: together.
bunches of banana colored lace
you're tangled
so cute
it's stupid.
cracking my knuckles in anticipation
I want to make love in the streets
make love to myself, and make love
to people I don't know.
silence and reading
and testing and cheating
my vocabulary is reaching out across the dinner table
looking for something your laughter will reply to.
all my portals are open in your innocence
and removing age, removing space
some one who feels horrible for ignorance: silence
I'll fill those holes, create my own
so you're not alone.
problemsproblemsprob
lemsproblemspro
blemsproblem
s. blemishes,
redish and sore
soarsoresoar
so
our
truths
revealed
with the lights off
and the moon brighter than the sun
and not at all blinding, I'm howling and
you're glowing and what I would give to
have that tug kiss jump pull run and hide.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
you say you’re sorry
but, love, that just doesn’t cut it anymore.
i.
the city lights twinkled in every direction around us
as the wind blew and our hair flew and
I spread my arms to fly as you clung to the rooftop.
you apologized on the way downstairs
and I forgave you because not everyone is brave enough to let go.
ii.
you called me, crying and apologizing, late
the night before christmas eve.
I listened to your voice quiver
and your sighs and your shaky inhalations
and I forgave you because I knew you had lashed out while you were hurt.
iii.
I submerged my head for a moment beneath the chlorinated, sloshing mess
and felt the dull yank of the jets and my shorts billow out.
steam billowed off my shoulders and the surface of the water
as I inhaled and looked skyward.
the stars blurred and danced without my glasses
and I forgave you because I knew how terrifying it could be to have only yourself in such a big world.
iv.
my forgiveness scared you and you left yet again.
my heart aches and my head aches and it’s so very hard to sleep.
I wonder if you think about me and if you’re regretful anew
and if you’re biding your time so that I forget the promise you made
to not play this game again.
I will forgive you in time, love,
because I don’t believe in being unhappy over the past,
but you are not excused and you are not forgiven
and no matter how much I adore your freckles and
the way your face lights up when you laugh and
how you feel so deeply and care so ******* much,
despite the fact that I know you’re terrified
and that you don’t know how to operate properly,
you have to clean up the entirety of your messes
before you can slip back into my life.
I love(d) you. but you’ve been quite the daft boy this time.
enough.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
*Sometimes it creeps surreptitiously
In between inhalations and exhalations
And at times in the form of
Long deep sighs.
I am mostly indebted to it
The specific times it chooses
To out of its own accord
Gather itself up piece by piece
Into a word that can be mouthed
That is “thank you”.*
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 9:13 AM UTC
when I was an ancient five
I KNEW I was different
from all other creatures alive
I did not know to ask the wise ones
why?
I could read their minds
but I guess most men, barely three feet tall
are cursed with this skill
so I watched and wondered
and though I did not know how fish breathed
I knew I was one, out of water
my gills gasping
as I walked this chunk of stone
others seemed so at home,
not I,
I would hide under the covers from the devil
my sister said was real
if they feared the same demons
they, the infinitely normal,
did not let this be known
so I watched and wondered
and counted their breaths
(even then, I knew, they had a finite number until their deaths)
and made a disturbing discovery--I did not breathe like they
but faster than some, slower than others
and when I tried to get in sync with them
it would work for only a few inhalations
and the “they” again somehow left me behind
to breathe air, alone
when water was likely my truer home
I can’t recall when I gave up the quest, to be like they
they who all breathe in unison, but I suspect
it was on some summer day
in the dry world of a five year old stone walker
who should never have left the deep blue sea
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
The first of thirty and the first time I've ever comitted to something I find very important.
Beneath my chest are two parachutes
On a daily basis the expand themselves,
with each breath.
Moving in a synchronized fashion, togther
they support the same body.
Never does one think of the consequence,
often embracing the heat of a cigarette
or the medically created air of an inhaler
My lungs
They make the best parachutes
Capillary kite strings,
perfect precision of movement
between the fine lines of the atmosphere
Kite strings that are often and only severed by a blunt force trauma
that, waking up feeling of getting hit by a truck
too many cigarettes between nervous conversations with a ghost
or the constant reassurance between inhalations that sometime soon,
my heart will beat again like it used too
for something that matters
instead of something that should matter
My lungs make the best parachutes
never ceasing to stop their rhythm
constantly supporting the downfalls.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
when we met again
In February's blank and blissful air,
my inhalations thin and quick and dry
were only halted by your frigid stare;
to me they wondered where I'd gone and why.
That one-night-stand was fun for both of us,
though neither of us seemed too satisfied;
when your first words burst out within the hush
my face grew warm and, caught off guard, I sighed.
"It's Valentine's," you said; your smile said
much more. "I figured we could take a walk,
cause what we did before was fun. You're red?"
We both knew why, but still I couldn't talk.
I could not reason why she grabbed my hand.
The sort of love that's lust is most unplanned.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC