"lugged" poems
At the corner, a girl child from the UK
another soft drink she chugged
Whilst the girl woman in the Sudan,
the heavy *** on head she lugged
She walked eight miles, braving ****
to fetch unclean water from the well
Whilst in the UK, the girl bought designer clothes
to make her feel just swell
God where are the waters of life?
To end their strife
At the mall, the boy child ate his third Hershey bar
In Malawi the boy man’s
stomach had extended too far
Malnutrition had sealed his fate
God where is the cereal?
To make their lives non-ephemeral
Down under, the son celebrated with family,
presents and cake
his father’s 100th milestone
Whilst in war torn Syria, a son, now orphan
buried his young murdered father,
in ground without a gravestone
God when will the fighting cease?
To give them a chance of peace
Is this God’s confusion?
That though we are all made the same,
some people their innocence shattered
are headed for a terrifying fate
whilst others fully satiated and secure,
sip their drinks, polish off and request another plate
Or does God if he exists
not love the weak and oppressed?
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
it’s real and thick, like, jiggly
tingly and tasty— i said baby i’m
not made for much but giggling
and i can make your night
haven’t spoken since i was out on bond
but you’re super cute more than i
envisioned and you’re good at makeup
makes my feelings all kinds of wiggly
days lost in green oblivion
like a prison weight lugged around
do you remember when you were
with me all skinny and brittle *****
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
They tell me to stick to my roots
because roots lead up to shoots.
They tell me to stick to my origin
unaware of how it acts as a prison,
My roots are Draupadi's hair that was twisted and lugged,
my roots are Panchali's saree that was tugged.
My roots are Sita's wrist Ravana wrested,
my roots are where Ahalya's chastity rested.
My roots are parasites that eat up its own herb and ****
my roots are rat snakes that eat up its own tissue and meat.
My roots are flames of fire that created and watered the plant of Sati,
my roots are pools of blood and long ropes that drowned and hanged LaxmiBai and Moolmati.
My roots are the dish misogyny flavoured with patriarchy,
my roots are naked streams of Ganga washing off their lynching and anarchy.
My roots are all the poison Shiva drank during the churning of the sea,
my roots are Dhritrashtra's aspirations and ambiguity.
My roots are its own herbivore,
my roots are the lava that burns its own floor.
And my roots are my flesh and bone,
so I am stitched to my roots altogether, all alone.
So as I cut my own roots, my roots chop me,
hence I stick to my roots while my roots remain free.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
I don't have a filing cabinet,
I've emptied all the drawers;
Lugged it through my clearing house,
Then gleefully through the door.
The **** thing's out for pick up.
Each drawer was filled with files:
Insurance forms for cars and bikes,
Gone this long while;
Health receipts for healthy lives,
Warranties and refund lies,
Transcripts from a former life,
Lesson plans and records,
Some pics of you and me.
All shredded, bagged and tightly tied,
And ready for the street.
I'm finding some relief.
If only I could do the same
With memories of you.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
MANY things I might have said today.
And I kept my mouth shut.
So many times I was asked
To come and say the same things
Everybody was saying, no end
To the yes-yes, yes-yes, me-too, me-too.
The aprons of silence covered me.
A wire and hatch held my tongue.
I spit nails into an abyss and listened.
I shut off the gabble of Jones, Johnson, Smith.
All whose names take pages in the city directory.
I fixed up a padded cell and lugged it around.
I locked myself in and nobody knew it.
Only the keeper and the kept in the hoosegow
Knew it-on the streets, in the postoffice,
On the cars, into the railroad station
Where the caller was calling, "All a-board,
All a-board for .. Blaa-blaa .. Blaa-blaa,
Blaa-blaa .. and all points northwest .. all a-board."
Here I took along my own hoosegow
And did business with my own thoughts.
Do you see? It must be the aprons of silence.
2.2k
Her hand rested slight
Upon the book she'd found
Her bag across her shoulder
She was waiting for the sound
Of the door alarm at the B & N
I mean after all it was
Fifty nine volumes
On how to build a bomb
Found none to soon
On a shelf at the B & N
Abandoned by her lover
After too many fights
That was five years ago
A lot of lonely nights
Casing the B & N
Screaming out loud
At rush hour on the train
Was not an option
Nor was *******
Snorted at the B & N
Finally people milling round
She quietly lifted the solution
To her ravaged heart
All fifty nine on revolution
S
l
i
p
p
e
d
Into her bag at the B & N
Head down and weighted down
She walked to the exit
Waiting for someone
No one to prevent it
Except security at the B & N
At last the perfect patsy
Alarm rang, the man froze
And our spurned lover
To the opportunity arose
Ran out of the B & N
Ran to the parking lot
Her VW bug
Opened the door
Threw in what she'd lugged
59 looted at the B & N
Key from the drink holder
In her shaking hand
er rhrh rhrh vah-room
Such a brazen plan
Perpetrated at the B & N
Her eyes glowed wicked
With rage and revenge
Someone would pay
All would attend
This crime hatched at the B & N
The deed was done
She clung to the wheel
The accelerator floored
The tires squealed
Away, away from the B & N
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Is there anything as special
As a sister's love?
They are right there with you
When push comes to shove!
They fight for you
Have light for you
To show you that they care
They grow with you
And sow with you
The mem'rys you both share
Sometimes they may not agree
Sometimes even fight
But that's because they want the best
And they know what's right!
It's my sister's birthday
And I want her to see
She is near and she is dear
In my memory
So here is a story
I remember from her past
It tells of her character
She's a fighter to the last!
~~<♡>~~
When my sister was still going to the University of Arizona here in Tucson, she had a motorcycle. Which had a proclivity for breaking down. Well, it was getting on toward summer. And the bike broke down many miles from where her mechanic was located. She had no money to get it towed. So my hundred and twenty pound sister pushed that heavy motorcycle all the way to the dealership! The mechanic was agog!
He couldn't believe she had lugged that motorcycle all that way! He told her, "Honey, you have some *****
This is the way my sister is. Beautiful, brilliant, and brave!
I am very proud of her, and I'm honored to be her sister!
♡ Catherine
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
You introduced me to my life and got me living,
Because of you, my existence found a meaning.
I remember the day when I first saw you bat
Your genius left even an ignorant kid flat.
It was in 1996, forever I’ll cherish the occasion
You ignited a spark of interest which is now my passion.
You scored a hundred and gave me my first cheer.
We lost that game and I cried my first cricket tear!
You gave me a Team I could proudly call ‘mine’
And the strength to support it, till the end of time.
I feel the rush of patriotism every time you lift your bat
And with pride in your eyes kiss the Tri-colour on your helmet.
You held Our Team together when all seemed to fall apart
Till you were our saviour, even in disaster I didn’t lose heart.
Every run you’ve scored, has brought a smile on my face
Each word you’ve said has in my heart, left a permanent trace.
Whenever life has got cruel, you’ve got it back in full bloom
It just takes a swing of your bat to bring the sun out from gloom
You’ve been the answer to my most desperate prayers
Like a messiah, you’ve fetched success from shadows of failures
Every moment you’ve spent on the field has been a lifetime for me
I’ve lived them all with a deluge of emotions -pride, despair, anger and glee.
With every joy you’ve granted me, I’ve been greedy for more.
And you’ve been an angel whose generosity has never turned sore.
At times when you failed, I refused to accept you too are human
But silently and patiently, you lugged the burden of my expectation
There might have been times when you just couldn’t take the pain
But you hid it behind your gritty face and played for us even with severe strain
I’ve been the most blessed of all beings, to have had a hero like you,
Your existence makes me believe, there’s a supreme power above too.
After years of being spellbound by your genius, I still crave for more
I pray that you go on forever, can’t help being selfish to the core.
I wish I could thank you for everything but I dare not try.
How does one thank the Almighty for bringing a body to life?
So, I call upon your deity; by your side may he forever stand,
And fulfill all your dreams, may your wish be his command!!!
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 12:51 AM UTC
Life stagnates as people start trickling back to their houses. Some look forward to the expectant faces of their children, while some others dread their churlish wives. As they saunter along doggedly, the day’s events play like a broken record in their heads – a mimicry of sanity. A crow caws somewhere as though lovesick. Streetlights come on and fireflies hover in a daze. Bicycles, cricket bats, and skipping ropes are lugged back home by children who are repeatedly beckoned by overbearing mothers. Almost in a trance, the buzz of the day fades away as a feigned tranquility descends.
molten skyline…
an earthworm buries
itself deeper
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
It was threatening rain for a week or more
It was always threatening rain,
The Weather Bureau was always sore
When the threatening rain never came.
We’d hold an open air barbecue
Each time they said it would come,
‘Hey it’s gonna rain,’ said Oliver Payne,
‘What do they think, we’re dumb?’
But the Bureau Chief, one Adrian Reef
Said he was sick to the core,
Why wouldn’t the weather behave itself
Like it had done before,
‘It’s making us look like a laughing stock,’
He bitterly said to Jane,
‘I want you to ring up the airport now
And charter a small, light plane,’
He loaded the plane up with dry ice
And a generous load of salt,
And lugged along an elephant gun,
The plane took off with a jolt,
He peppered the clouds with ice that day,
He put his job on the line,
The last thing he wanted to have to say:
‘The weather is going to be fine.’
And down on the ground at the barbecue
We were sizzling snags and steak,
Having an ice cold beer or two
And trying to stay awake.
The sultry weather was drowsy then
We’d heard the report, in vain,
But just when the steaks were nicely done
It came down, bucketing rain.
We didn’t have time to pack it up,
We couldn’t save snags or steak,
In only a couple of minutes there
We were staggering round in a lake,
And Oliver’s esky floated away
With the rest of the beer we’d bought,
While we took shelter as best we could
Under cover of Maggie’s porch.
The water rose right up to our knees,
Our cars were afloat that day,
The chickens drowned and the old hearth hound
Was found seven miles away,
While on the Teev was the Bureau Chief
With a grin that was not quite sane,
He knew he’d won with his elephant gun,
‘The sky is threatening rain!’
David Lewis Paget
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
sooner or later you'll find out your thoughts are a sin:
drugged and lugged through the halls you're living in
until you've accepted their embracing concepts
and their defacing analysis of your character; you're dead.
their pale, fluorescent lights hum in your head
and clean out the cobwebs that you've let build up
until you've been completely cleansed of your transgressions
and until you've figured out life's not about progression.
sooner or later you'll find out you're life's been overanalyzed:
created for the sake of boredom and then criticized
by yourself, your peers, and the people who you never knew;
they'd never known, not even yourself, but you guessed.
there was no reason to make an estimate, you're blessed
through your admission of self, sanctity, and painful denial
of the truths they'd tried to make you disbelieve;
now you're ready, you're certain, and soon, you'll be freed.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
I’ve got five minutes
Then I must leave my verdant patch
On the skirt of a wind-rustled lake
hidden behind Logan's Roadhouse
Five minutes
to mentally finger with the fetal position
In which I awoke this morning,
there as the sun drew long shadows,
I, a diminutive daub of nautilus,
On a California King,
rippled plane of sand,
Sporadic shivers, beneath a chenille blanket
I, the town crier of dawn as
My own dreams ran screaming through the silence
Pointing a finger at
my sanctuary… “Here is your pearl thief!”
Men in hats, briefcases, heel-toe black clicky and shiny shoes
on leashes lugged,
Yanked by noisy hounds passing by
stop, sniff, snarl-toothed ********
then one caught my scent,
“Five minutes more sleep,” I implored
"Find another dreaming fleshy mess of bones!"
And leave me to my pearl.
But it’s a universe that simply will not wait
And suffer fools for sleepers,
not a moment more
Yet for my many sleepless minutes after,
Dusk till dawn, and still beyond,
it’s always,
five
minutes
more
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
As a child I received a special bag.
I started to pack it with useless things.
Over the years it became heavy and unbearable to carry,
Yet I could never leave it behind.
The vibrant colors had since faded,
the pink zipper no longer zipped ,
and a weird musty smell flowed from it;
Yet I lugged it around-
it created a groove into my shoulder from its heaviness-
causing me to cower as I walked.
One day, I grew too weary to continue carrying that bag around.
I dropped that bag filled with regret, worry, low self-esteem, and self hate behind,
Since then I have walked tall; feeling as free as I could be.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
My other half ;you became
until one day you had put me to shame
'My other half' i no longer claimed
for I had told you to restrain
My spite soon reached it's peak
until one day I said “No more being meek”
My wrath I did not tell nor show
because I remembered how Karma goes
Since my wrath went untold
The more my wrath began to grow
Fake smiles & "okays"; I gave out like drugs
Because it indicated that I had felt nothing but inside my heart lugged
The plastic genuine-like smile allowed you to come back in my arms like men & dogs
But then it dawned on me that I got no apology for what you had done to me
So on that day I got even with my enemy
My foe thought we were on good terms
But no, a lesson is meant to be learnt
The secrets that foe shared with me
was now exposed for everyone to see
My foe was put to shame in the public eye
Maybe they will learn in due time that the game I was playing was such a beautiful lie
It occurred to my foe that
It was a plot & that my intentions were sly
and also that
Karma's a *****
& so was I.
(g.p)
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
Growing up I never had any pets
My adorable baby brother grew to be the centre of all attentions
My parents were way to busy working
Keeping us afloat
To pay attention to this skinny dreamy girl
I've been to crèches
Where the owners 18 year old son used to hit me
I've sat at the doorsteps of my house
Hours and hours
Hoping the cook would let me
Home lost its appeal
I saw it as a place to live
Not a place to love
Loneliness grew to be my closest companion
My dreams and troubles too complicated
For the simple minds of 8 year olds
12 years later
Things have changed
I've grown into a woman
One I could someday admire
But the 8 year old hasn't left
The one who craves love
Who sits by the doorstep of faith knocking
Begging for the strength to hold on
12 years later we got ourselves a tortoise
Marco the solitary explorer of our house
He was not mine to keep or love
A birthday gift just for my brother
But he grew on us all
Bringing out slowly the love we had long since locked away
In my recent months of hiding
He became my companion
Someone so tiny
Who could never speak
Yet listened so intently when I spoke
Whose curiosity and laziness rivalled my own
We had a understanding
A relationship
I was always careful with him
His tininess terrified me
I've hurt too many in the past
Not this time I vowed
But I ******* it all up
Early morning routines passed in a hurry
My selfishness got the better of me
As I hustled into another work day
And just as I lugged my work for the day into the next room
I felt something hit my foot
And a squeak that turned my blood to ice
There he was
Hidden inside his shell which lay upside down
Time slowed down to seconds
As I rushed to set him straight
Praying he was okay
And even though my mom says he's okay
I can't get rid of the guilt
That painful squeak runs clear in my mind every passing second
I don't deserve him
I could have killed him
I almost did
The problem is always with me
I'm the hurricane of insanity
Of fuckedupness redefined
I could have killed him
I almost did
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Our ovoid showers copper on the fourth of july
Slips fists until bliss razed the grass with red dye
Empty sieve lead hooks to spank through the nights
Our mare’s nest by-passing sparkled like a firefly
Birds & trees vastly sprout young waves of light
Lugged for incredible misbehavior
Until glass rolls & lights up with majestic flavors
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
Music of our lives.
It’s been a while
since I’ve got round
To putting words
on paper down.
But life’s a busy
dizzy stream
Of people met
And places seen
One life now gone
No maybe two
My wife in passing
Took mine too
But she lives on
though in my mind
Her memories
never left behind
A precious treasure
locked away
To savor on
a troubled day
But this is not
a sad refrain
While she’s in heaven
I remain
And live a life
the gypsies know
An endless trek
avoiding snow.
Each fall I load
the truck with stuff
A truck that’s never
big enough
To hold our endless
piles of gear
Of things we need
lugged far and near
For now we have
another home
Way in the south
to which we roam
And spend our winters
in the sun
Good friends, fine meals
and dances fun
All older folks
I seem to see
And many
over eighty be
And life may end
for some real soon
For Florida’s
Heaven’s waiting room
But till that day
those folks aren’t wrong
To live life full
And party on.
So with the pack
I spend my time
And all their pastimes
Fully mime
But come the spring
the parties done
We flee the blinding
burning sun
Back to the north from
whence we fled
Th e north we love
Since winters dead
Back to our homes
We now all strive
Such is the music
Of our lives.
“So is it in the music of men's lives. King Richard II: V, v”
If you’d like more
of this long pun
I’m sorry folks
The writings done.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
It was you
you who burbled my thoughts
Who coruscated my facets
Who severed my gears
Who took my milk for gall
You who left me
digging caverns below my arms
as they proved to
hold no one
So useless, I became their hangman
hoisting them up
to the sky,
dangling them down
to the ground
They swung lifelessly,
as a nocuous pendulum,
condemned by all
for their open tears
It was you who couldn’t bear my weight
no matter how light it got
or how strong you grew
You who lugged my baggage on your back
and threw it off your shoulders
when you found it a foolish load
You who poured cream in my coffee
with your sweet laughter
Who gave my stomach butterflies
ridden with insomnia
It was you
who left me
lovesick and languid
biting back malaise
with an ailing tongue
Now I house snoring
butterflies with broken wings
and my coffee is black
and bitter
like me
One day,
I’ll wake up
with grooves marrying my skin
encroaching
like waves on a bay front
with gunmetal hair
sweeping
like a broom over dross
with dust nodding off
on my knees
I’ll gulp down bygone speech
putting droughts in my throat
from all the pride I swallowed
then, with a bone-dry mouth, I’ll speak again -
as winter must melt into spring -
and I won’t say “It was you”
I’ll say
“It was me.”
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
i dragged this **** fifty miles across the border for this?
that hurts, it does, it really does
like a deep burning stabbing twisting the sort of thing
i lugged this all the way here for you
i got a flat on the side of the highway so i had to carry this to you
by hand
and you don't want it
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 4:47 AM UTC
The last time I dreamed about you
I planted the dream in soil.
When I fell asleep and woke up.
I believed you to have grown,
Like any other flower.
Even if you turned out
to be a rose,
I didn’t mind the ***** of a thorn.
When I wiped my eyes
There was a cactus in the soil.
There are good dreams
And there are bad dreams.
Most bad dreams start off good.
Then become prickly and cold.
I didn’t care.
I lugged you around with me
everywhere.
Pulling out the spines
that stuck me.
No matter where we went
I considered them kisses
From you to me,
And me, I considered my dream
A reality.
Then you got larger.
Then you got heavier.
That happy lug turned to a hard pull.
And those cute little ******
Turned into being stabbed.
there’s a reason why most cactus’
Are found in the desert.
And why some dreams
Are just like a cactus
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 1:04 AM UTC
*nothing as reckless as a feigned indifference, reckless with a negative connotation- that is-
a pretended falseness and concealment of passion, obsession, a love….
inconsiderate of a universe’s ability to destruct, to ****** away any given scenario, to wipe clean the gravity between two souls, two minds, too much gambled. too large of a bet. high risk little return, no return.
none at all.*
we bathe in sorrow hoping it lightens to laughter.
ashing cigarettes on our skin, dexterity
laziness in us all
leaving coffee black
leaving ashes paraphernalia of the love I burnt
with fists that turned cold, so cold, unclenched
a melancholy weeping for the sighs of metal breath.
an injection of remorse, what’s it quenching? what’s it worth?
what’s it asking? what’s it taking?
are we sinning? are we praying?
where’s the Dying end, where’s it stop,
tonic, what’d it tell you? did your analeptic 'screaming-to-the-ceiling' testify to the woes endured by a life on earth, a life lugged through, broken by its intricacies
we’re all on hands and knees
singing, sobbing, pleading, throbbing
it’s a beauty in the dead leaves, the Fallen I feel badly for, a reaching sympathy,
beyond what my hands express
we embody selfish bringings
bursts of breath
balloons of noise of gasps of the lapse preceding death
is it hypocritical to enjoy the lack of closure, the abrupt ending, keeping bottles kept?
the myriad of leaving
the method to Drinking
heavy heaving
stumbling cross-legged through this party of contemplating Permanence, a greying breeding
*i imagine a man heading a room ceasing noise not having to demand it no, rather whispering, whispering streams of thought of consciousness.... or the lack of it
on buzzing fragments of philosophy and rationale.....
or the lack of it*
the lack of a sounding foundation
the lack of a solid grounding of a planned pathway of a plan at all,
bottomless to the Bottom of the top of the
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
My English Professor says that I am not that good of a writer. I should have known by all the garbage I lugged around with me. Espousing it here and there. Trying to lighten the load. It's better to accept it I suppose. Not everything can be good. It's hit and miss. If I throw enough **** at the wall some of it is bound to stick. He said, "You can only be as good as the stuff you read." Maybe I should read more good **** Any suggestions? I like to read Bukowski. He says Bukowski is trash. I really don't care what he thinks. I'll be happy with a C. And hopefully, a degree one day. He reads The New York Times and rambles on about politics. I read trash and I don't talk very much. I'm too busy thinking about liquor and women. Usually one at a time or one in particular. I work, go to school and come home to play mediocre superdad or distant husband. I wonder if I'll get that degree. I wonder if I even really care anymore. And if not, then why? Maybe there is some fateful reason for all this. That's what people like to say, "Everything happens for a reason." It sure feels good to think like that. Seems that way.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
winters in indianapolis with you
the places and the strange feelings they give off,
the music plays in the streets as the snow falls.
the mattress is on the floor,
it’s cold.
you take up most of the blanket.
skipping class to sleep in your bed,
warm showers
skin soft and fleshy
ignited
a text read at 2:30 a.m.
i miss getting ****** on the regular.
now all i have is pbr and silence at parties
autumns in Bloomington without you.
hugging the blanket after you leave.
it’s a hazy Sunday morning
looking at an empty seat across from me on the bus
how dark your eyes are in the moonlight
a void expanding
it felt like we were on the edge of a nuclear war
as the smoke from outside the brick house covered your face.
i don’t know how to tell you.
as if it really means much.
you always have to leave in the morning
no matter how much we both want you to stay.
but there’s an urgency,
the world might end for us tomorrow
and you won’t know.
the next week i am laying on decker’s cold apartment floor,
missing winters in Indianapolis with you.
forgetting how all of our favorite coffee shops closed down,
and the icy streets that never seemed to melt.
the sun will rise tomorrow and it will sit in the back of my head.
dark eyes long hair and the box of hamms you lugged up to nick’s apartment.
the old couch you slept on.
our drunken laughs.
how I wouldn’t tell you
because I wanted to do it sober.
the way you say goodbye in the morning.
you might be it.
you might be.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
days when all you had to do was
arrange the furniture and watch the passing
of shadows in mellifluous slowness – ready to catch
you in heft of mesh.
nothing keeps her in place.
that is what you said. you said you were
always moving
from the north up to the south,
and at times the north of no south
that refuses to be held close into straight paths.
you gave it no unction – this abstraction.
christened with the water from
your measures, slipping out of grips,
from where you are and where I found you in,
retained in some sense of placeness,
almost cuts with the sharp dagger
of wind in mornings when you peer
into the putrid landscape of Manila asphyxiated
by the rise of smog.
her sorrows remain untouched and intact,
given urgency by the emptiness of her
hand. he had to be elsewhere and you
were in the midst of nowhere but the hollow
oblivion of your home, and I took it, I took it
and I fragmented it to gather from it,
a sacrament or say, the looming of dangers for
mine to situate in defeat,
and I placed you somewhere like a new truth
that you’ve grown fond of,
like the only voice you hear in the night
is yours, and gathering that indistinct sound
from the stray of light was the
lover having left an impending need.
my father proposed to watch a film
with my mother and I see potential
in something that had gone away even before
the empty din of the sea played its exhausted
machinery, telling me something known and familiar,
which I refuse to utter because it would double
its terror.
we ought to meet somewhere, you said,
a bridge, a tangent, a straight path
or a perilous curvature. you will never break
as the sparrows close in,
as the disparage quavers,
as an old man stops his engine somewhere
under a bridge beneath rondures.
we ought to meet somewhere,
you said. a word tamped into shape,
lugged into narratives,
so easy
breakable
and false.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
I felt something
pulling me
so I looked, back
over my heavy shoulder
as I lugged that broken seat
down the stairs on casters
it fell apart
when he grabbed it by the arms
and slammed it into the linoleum
with me in it
after I rolled it to the dumpster
and lifted it over the metal edge,
I remember the relief of letting go
of that fractured, useless piece
somehow I was
lighter
as if tossing that moment
and all the things
no longer safe
for me
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 11:05 AM UTC