"pummel" poems
Turn the corner
Hand tenses
Looking down the iron sights I see an object fall
"Tango down" I call over the radio
what was his name? Tango, Threat, Terrorist, doesn't matter.
Explosion
Mud brick wall vaporized into dust
Keep going
Out of breathe
Keep going
Hand tenses
"Tango down"
Does it have kids? A Family? Threat eliminated
Round the corner
Hand tenses
"Three tangos on west building roof top"
Bullets from my brothers **** by my helmet
Return fire
"Take Cover!"
Sweat drenched face fogs up my goggles
Explosion
Brick pieces pummel my back
Ears ringing, faintly hearing
"Alpha down, Medic!"
Blurred vision, equilibrium thrown off
Raise my rifle
Hand tenses
Silhouette falls
"Medic!" heard faintly
Hand tenses
"Are you okay?" sounds distant
Hand tenses
"babe?" getting louder
Hand tenses
Hand tenses
Wake up
Sheets heavy with sweat
"Babe, are you ok?"
Throwing the blankets I jump back to the edge of the bed
Her frightened face
I've seen before
I look down
Hands tense
Same look, no tangos
No threats
Just Ghosts
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
“We could be gods amongst mortals"
“Why be a god when the earth gave me you?”
His slight whisper
Another’s warmth on my hand
Body sculpted like those of gods
Engraved into my own
He is very humane; -
He is gravity;
Retain me against ascending
Pummel my sins
He is water;
Take away my thirst
Drown me when greed takes over
And I am grounded,
I am thirsty,
Lain earthbound onto the ground at his side
Heart aflame far away from Mount Olympus
I am still only ** human.**
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
a virtual network is the perfect place
for an alien intelligence to infiltrate;
passing as any number of avatars &
spreading an anti-human philosophy
in the war between robots & aliens
w/ humanity no longer a factor, the
robots freely the pummel the aliens
w/ devastating laser precision; the
aliens retaliating w/ hot magnets to
heat the polymer machines to the
melting point; the aliens unaware of
the earth's default nuclear arsenal;
triggered to explode as a last resort;
mankind & machine joined as one &
as the aliens land their ground forces
a slight tremor becomes a supernova
& the entire alien fleet is blown out
of spacetime w/ such fiery havoc, the
never seen & long extinct mankind
becomes legendary for its viciousness
hav·oc/ˈhavək/noun
noun: havoc
1. widespread destruction. "the hurricane ripped through Florida,
causing havoc"
synonyms: devastation, destruction, damage,
desolation, ruination, ruin; disaster, catastrophe
"the hurricane caused havoc"
great confusion or disorder.
"schoolchildren wreaking havoc in the classroom"
synonyms: disorder, chaos, disruption,
mayhem, bedlam, pandemonium, turmoil,
tumult, uproar; commotion, furor, a three-ring circus; informal:
hullabaloo
"hyperactive children create havoc"
verb: archaic: havoc; 3rd person present: havocs;
past tense: havocked; past participle:
havocked; gerund or present participle:
havocking [ ]. ( )
1. lay waste to; devastate.
late Middle English: from Anglo-Norman
French havok, alteration of Old French
havot, of unknown origin; the word was
originally used in the phrase ‘cry havoc’;
(Old French crier havot ) ‘to give an army the order - havoc,’
the signal for plundering
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
I
I am in Cardiff
Where foams pummel the jetty
I am in Cardiff
Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
I am in Cardiff
Where the Pilot Star became a conch
I was in the ruse of age
Where the young kiss
I was in Joshua Tree
Where the mind is thoughtless
I am a grove's wilting
I will be an unbearable urge
And I am shivering in Santa Ana near Bristol and 1st
II
There is intent when the addict mutters --
Estranged in his unhappy gutters --
"Life is cheap and love is free."
Hopelessness's epitome
Sits naked beyond the wall.
There is derision in the dealer's call --
Osmium-heat in an unimpeded fall --
"You can't change who you are."
Greed could tear down a star
To sculpt into a Cardiff shell.
Warrant breeds within a child's yell.
III
I am in Cardiff
Where foams pummel the jetty
I am in Cardiff
Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
I am in Cardiff
Where the Pilot Star became a conch
I was in the ruse of age
Where the young kiss
I was in Joshua Tree
Where the mind is thoughtless
I am a grove's wilting
I will be an unbearable urge
And I am shivering in Santa Ana near Bristol and 1st
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
.
He doesn't realise...
The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground.
Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound.
He doesn't see...
Past the darkened lenses that she dons.
She wears them,
not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken,
but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations.
He doesn't know...
Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her.
The rivulets of tears...
She had quietly shed without a whimper.
He doesn't hear...
The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head.
The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said.
He doesn't care...
To think of the devastating waves that come.
Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures...
This frail wall that she prays for nightly.
Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour.
He doesn't feel...
The need for empathy.
For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower.
He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments
and his fists as sceptre.
She doesn't live...
To see future suns.
For her day finally set when it all came down.
The wall she had feebly held together with her life...
Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife.
.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
you are the light at the end of a tendril. a spindle of dread, woven in caustic guile of argyle
parallelograms...phantom realms of solid waste. you are the pin in the subject. gating satan through a thimble
of crocodile tears, the new symbol.
the rude glyph in black bibles and strong drink, en-kindling the dead. rodents ponzi the scheme
of hell’s maze, with lies...your lies...
you have eyes that lead aside from your heart’s plot
you are saboteur. banal.
unrestrained waste. you are the fin in the barracuda puppet, grazing the wrist of Dim Henson
huffing crystal gorillas in the congo of your foyer
you are
the black chandelier.
teach me your cheap trick
striking off ‘ iron-on’ pinkie swears
your praline heresies... your ‘ no remorse’ code
lay bare to me.
better my better angels, to fathom the loathsome ****
of your actual mind. keep me abreast of your wretched games...
apply the rod of your wrong love, above all.... you must betray.
you must know in your fetid rot
of a third eye... the phlegm genius of **** blindness.... teach me the rictus of
cold hearted. a false god in my lotus !
spare me the chaste suzette
flip me the ***** that spits fables.
learn me the savage puns
to pummel you sustaining your worst done.
grant me the lethal beans for my sacred cow
trade me the idylls of your forked heart
for your crushed null
and crossed
bones.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
Having depression is like being thrown into a thrashing, surging ocean,
And you have zero idea how to swim.
Meanwhile, the entire world expects you to keep moving forward,
To keep trying to swim in this thing called life,
Even if you can't swim at all.
But you feel like you're dying.
You're choking on your own breaths.
And every breath is a struggle.
You feel completely stranded and alone.
As waves continue to crash over your head and pummel you with water,
You want to give up the fight, but you have to stay afloat.
Help comes in the form of pills.
They become your floatation device.
You're no longer relying on your own willpower to stay alive.
You're relying on what people say will keep you afloat.
Now at least you won't drown,
But you still don't know how to swim on your own.
Therapy helps teach you how to swim.
Soon you are swimming forward,
All on your own this time.
Or so you thought.
Even with the best therapists and things to keep you afloat...
The waves will still come,
Whether you want them to or not.
Because you have no control over them.
And you still can't swim on your own.
But people still don't understand.
They say that you should be all better.
They think that one bad day means you're relapsing.
You feel ashamed of your bad days,
So you hide them from people because,
Those people just don't understand the hardships of your journey.
You're still trying to learn to swim forward while the crushing waves and blasting currents are going against you.
No wonder you're so exhausted.
Every. Single. Day.
No wonder bad days still come sometimes.
Because some days will come that getting out of bed is hard,
And all you want to do is hide under the blankets.
But you don't, because the world expects you to get out of bed.
So, you get up and take a shower.
You make breakfast for yourself.
You grip onto the radiating warmth of your cup of coffee.
You remind yourself of who you are.
And you remind yourself of how strong you are,
And how strong you can be.
Because bad times might come.
Bad days are going to come.
But you still can't swim on your own.
You still feel like you want to stop moving.
Let yourself drown in the crushing currents of the ocean.
But you can't give up just yet,
Because tomorrow might be better.
Tomorrow there might be moments you want to live for.
Sunsets you want to chase,
People you want to embrace,
Laughs you want to share and tears drops you want to cry.
Memories you want to make,
Conversations you want to have,
Favorite foods you want to savor and places you want to go.
Things you want to try,
Gifts you want to give,
And love you want to find.
But you wouldn't know unless you kept trying to swim.
So you choose to keep trying.
You choose to not give up.
You choose to remember how strong you are,
Because better days will come.
And at one point, on one day, you will learn how to completely swim on your own.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.
Romantic Moment
After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores
where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.
It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,
and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved
and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.
If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck
and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,
and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.
And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and
pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.
Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,
human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive
enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go
to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
I'm an *** of a friend, and I sowwy.
Waking you up for my problems, I know.
Always bugging you about my insecurities.
I swear, wrecking you life's not my goal.
I get mad at you when I have dog days.
And I'm too shy, to pummel those who talk ****
But I swear to you, this is not what I'm trying to do.
This is not what you deserve.
This is not what you should get.
You never whine to me.
I don't know how you keep things confined,
but ya know, maybe im wrong.
Maybe there is no sorrow inside.
What I'm trying to say is..
thank you for being there.
For holding me up ALLL the time.
Thank you and you're the best,
I would always offer up,
and break you out,
if you committed crime
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
Holding broken pieces of past in the palms of my outstretched hands
Reasons evade me
I sit here struggling to understand
The edges dig deep
Causing tender skin to seep scarlet drops
Taking Tylenol to pummel pain until it finally stops
I'm ready to give up life and dive headfirst into my grave
It is difficult for me but I must admit my soul is far too gone to save
The devil stole it from my bones and doesn't plan on giving it back
Without it polished surface falters and slowly begins to crack
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 4:04 PM UTC
Cover my ears with ignorance,
pummel my head with bliss.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
I
I am in Cardiff,
Where waves pummel the jetty
I am in Cardiff,
Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
I am nowhere
II
Where the sun severs the street and
Slowly, methodically,
They come, they come.
Electrifyingly stupefied in the dawn,
Tenantry not bound to cause and
Helpless as marred lead in the wind,
Stuck to strata and
Battered under **** pale-green
Thinned on spread fingers.
III
There is intent when the addict mutters ---
Alienated in his nettled gutters ---
"Life is cheap and love is free."
Hopelessness's epitome
Sits naked beyond the wall.
IV
And I am in Cardiff,
Where waves pummel the jetty
And I am in Cardiff,
Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
And I am nowhere
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
When you tell your daughter that your life has been a series of near car crashes
Forgive her for mistaking the gloss behind your eyes - as nostalgia for a wreck that could have been
Forgive her for clawing her skin with the intent of stirring a tornado so violent she could match your presence
You taught her to see you as a fatality; too late to be saved, too proud to be held
Remember that an animal licking it's wound does so out of self-preservation, not self-pity
Remember that saline is salt water and tears need to be shed and that humans are capable of healing
Remember to feel
Teach her to pummel her fists
Teach her to shout down the boys
Remember the hollow below your heart that echoes like an abandoned house
When ivy grows out from her chest cavity and encapsulates all around you
Remember that she is not unruly
She merely sees within you a potency to create beauty
And consider her ability to grow and grow and grow
Encourage her to expand
Be mindful that little girls should never need permission to occupy space
Be humble - she may even teach you a thing or two
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
My temples pummel out
A throbbing skull
Drumming on my edges
Cracked bruises
Hidden underneath my hair
No one sees my pain
Feeling dismissed by perceived delusions
Neglect brings forth intensified loneliness
A mystery unable to solve
Potential brain damage
Resting in purgatory
Along the coastline of denial
Where I appear all right
Until another concussion
Drags me to this tide
Wanting to end my life
As I drown to the chilly depth
Wondering why my husband
Hasn't thrown me a life jacket
He tires of my imperfections
As do I….
Severity thrown under
The boat of exaggeration
No one understands my head's sensitivity
Not even me
The judgements of being weak
Of not being careful
Arguments against enjoying life
I am brought to a surplus of cries
Aching sobs swim
In my damaged head
I'm confused and lines are blurred
I'm scared and can't remember
Noises storm
Inside my ears transmitting corruption
Comatose movements
Ambushed by swelling spastic vibrations
Blinding light
Striking serrated razors between my eyes
Weighted head
Seeks detachment from its guardian
How I wish people saw this concussion for what it is
© Jl 2016
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
These days I hate being told about my strength.
I hate being handed a title branding my chest
With a word so full of magnitude.
I am discovering not that this world has taught me strength,
But that it has carved creeking creavices of weakness.
Straight to the base of my bones.
If I should ever walk past,
You are more likely to hear my
Fault lines shaking earthquakes
Through every fiber of my woven body.
Lately I have no peace of mind to find some sleep.
I"ve been scraping the avenues we paved together
Knees broken, ****** hands,
Praying to find a piece of you.
My eyelids refuse to give me darkness
With such a measured distance between us.
Knowing that you will not be there,
Playing symphonies through my ribs as I wake,
Is too much a burden for my tired heart.
Can you tell me, where is the strength in this?
I can no longer look at my mother
Without some shame swelling
A fierce sea inside of me.
Waves of my mother's failure pummel my gut.
Yet I could never tell her this.
Could never say that she
Ruined my life,
Put me through hell.
Fed my childhood to the mouth
Of the monster of addiction.
Knowing my innocence was spilled as blood,
A sacrifice to the God of her fix.
Ten years later,
I still cannot look at my mother.
Now tell me, what is the strength in this?
Loving me is a death wish.
For I will drain the life from you.
Facing such a world with these hollowed out eyes,
I cannot do so on my own.
Make sure to keep you distance,
Too close and I will bind our wrists
With rope a burning indian.
So when the knife comes down,
I will not bleed alone.
So tell me, what is the strength in this?
One year since flashbacks of things,
I never knew I remembered.
When the darkness comes I
Cannot close my eyes without
First feeling his hands,
His eyes,
His breath.
I cannot love myself,
For disgrace of the woman he sculpted out of me.
So show me where is the strength?
I hate being told abbout my strength.
I hate being handed a title
Branding my chest with burnt crooked lies
I hate being granted a word so full of magnitude.
My shoulders weren't crafted
To hold such weight.
You may never find that in me.
So if you call this strength,
Here take a look
At my book of weaknesses.
How much strength do you see in me now?
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 9:44 PM UTC
There's something in the way it moves in my dreams
A shadow clock Night Watch to pummel the walls down.
It starts as a cold chill, windmills and tail spins.
Clarity is not an option in this illusion that surrounds me,
water keeps pouring out of the ceiling, drowning me.
Falling, keep falling.
I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.
All of my fears, they find me here
It hardly feels like I'm asleep
While the rest of the world drifts off to dream
I'm fighting the one's who creep.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 5:51 PM UTC
drowned the Earth suddenly.
underneath honest light,
all
submerged. this cataract of feeling —
waters pursue beginnings. cradling them
to unknown ends, washed by the shore.
gluttonously the night swallowed
all — parliament of birds warble no longer.
midnight, the Moon
claws the supple skin of organized stone
displaced
where all the edges bloom
forth torrid froth of dappled light which kills no less than a brief life of matchflame. tenuous spar of wind on
the unserious twilight; bulge of death
in the stream — a body haul, rafting
in compost; stench of all topple like
resins held loose in vats. rat **** becomes
as inviting as moulding bread;
tantric music for no instrument, hoarse
cries unbeheld —
until the flesh no longer flounders
pressed against sleep-shaped youngness
hewn lissome in the hours of no succor,
modeling silence in the thrill of
this enthusiastic space,
hands scouring muddied
obscure, atremble,
shadowless hours fill stomachs with
the plump word of rescue yet none
of these fingers unwished the
ingenuity of dull gods — this twilight
nor twinight could ever grive
in forethought, striking bells to signal birds
to arrive again so we could feast
in silver fish, with bare hands scaled to callouses,
looking at it twice-over, this battered yolk
of whiteness, with deeds of the viridian
now atrill in new fragile woodworks
lurching and
ameliorating as we all
stutter and sing
haunts dabbing open
lips of small wounds that
wish to shut quietly, almost
every threat of gray or pummel of
wind startles the flyblown ornate,
hurrying us back to cornerless homes
where all photographs washed away,
very few hang
swayed by verdure
of the gradual throne of sea
curving perpetually the several stars
we have ignored for a while,
where everything quite begins
again to enthrall with a melodic
leitmotif of the most tender of
instances loose
in mouths
and in endless recall
breathless—
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
I have been left
floating
my arms out
in mid-action
as if to stop
what might have always
inevitably come
and I am dangling
above forest and brush
above wild animals
who look at me
in wonder
my goddess energy
in temporary shock
my grief
billowing behind me
like an 18th century gown
in a black cloud of mourning
it threatens to
drown me completely
but my secret weapon
is to let it ride its course
to feel it in all intensity
For I know
this will pass
I will be ok
and so I let it go
untethered
like a river's rushing current
like a pocket of turbulence
like a storm that whips up,
engulfing quiet
in sudden froth
my hair flows
like a manga warrioress,
about to strike
her revenge upon the Earth
rage in arrows that pummel
your confused, bruised heart
where truth hides
within layers
upon layers of
veiled
night air
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
A pass between
the ceiling stints,
ivy sinews,
and unhinged bricks.
The broken glass
still shifts and cracks
in narrow steps
of a time passed.
Streams of oil,
weaving between,
to a seamless,
tar and fissure,
smoke clouds pummel,
passing stranger,
surging street lights,
to the waves of.
On the edge of
the coming rain,
consignment times
as beauty lies.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:40 PM UTC
bent man's coat
torn
crisp shirts
board table
graced
now
grey
winds pummel
forgotten frame
crouched
low
cardboard sheet
sodden
wan dawn
breaks
society's stare
averts
empties past
hurried
imagines
immunity
from life's
bitter cold
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
I am nineteen
And sitting in an over-glorified sports bar,
Telling him about my ex
Who would sip from the Devil's cup
And pummel my face
When he tells me
"You are too young to have dealt with that."
And I almost cry.
Because having been involved
In some serious **** before my 18th birthday,
I am afraid to tell him
That I have seen my friends
In coffins with track marks kissing their veins
And truly guilty rapists walk free.
I am ashamed to say
That I know what it is like
To have a person say to me
With no concern, only disdain
"Are you going to calm down
Or do I have to call the police this time?"
I took Atticus Finch too seriously
When he said to put on your fellow man's shoes
And walk around in them.
I have been on first dates in mental hospitals
And I became addicted to nicotine
By tasting it on men's breath
And he would be appalled to find out
The real reasons
I don't drink.
In a world where a year ago
I had to ask to leave the room and ****
I am now in a world
Where I am condemned
For not knowing where I'm going yet
But I will be dammed
If I do not know
What you're allowed to gift someone
Who is in the hospital after a suicide attempt
Or drug overdose.
Books, but only ones with non-controversial themes,
Shoes, laces prohibited.
It seems to me that they know
That my connection to this earth
Has become so frail
That even a shoelace
Could sever it.
His eyes are as young as mine
But he is saying these things to me
With a cigarette in his hand
And the weight of sleepless nights on his shoulders.
And I want to tell him that pain isn't relative
And what hurt me
May **** him
But I will not burden him
With the knowledge
That life gets better
Because I know he is hard headed.
I wonder some nights
If a shoelace is all it would take for him, too
And I almost cry.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
i have atom bomb dreams
from the desert
mushroom clouds billowing
the shockwave blow past cacti
and down dirt roads
from the cockpit of a b-29
leveling the ground below
already comprised of craters
as we pummel the earth
we become a might to match the gods
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
Sailor come hither and harken our song
and be calm and becalmed on our uncharted sea,
and unhindered by storms that would sully thy sails
and the thunderous waves that would pummel thy decks;
oh sailor come hither and harken our song
and our voices will sing joy to thee
Rejoice and remain in the waters we share
with the planks and the plankton, the rainbow of fishes,
the garments of sailors and whalers with whale tattoos
over their chests and their necks;
oh sailor remain in the waters we share
and our voices will bring joy to thee
Swim deep to the depths of our uncharted ocean
And see the fine wrecks of the ships of thy fathers,
the littered bones strewn from the deck hands in hand-me-downs,
anchor chains rusting and bells of submariners;
oh sailor swim deep to the depths of our ocean
and our voices will give joy to thee
Draw breath from the water to taste the fine fragrance
of wines and of gold and the many fine horses
that sailed from old cities to trade with the new towns
and ventured to hear of our song of their happiness;
oh sailor draw breath from the waters fine fragrance
and our voices will sing oft of thee
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
His pressure was mounting
along with his weight.
He got into training
a little bit late.
In the grey light of morning
He'd be seen on the street.
sweating it out
on sneaker clad feet.
He sparred with his partners.
with few in the stands.
Then pummel the light bag
with lightening fast hands.
The fight date was approaching
and no one in the State
gave him much of a chance
of escaping his fate.
The champ was unbeaten.
He ground his foes down.
They'd be down, looking up
at the Champ looking down.
How then to cope
with an unbeatable foe?
This cup would not pass
even if he wished it so.
He was not getting younger,
This was his last shot.
Would he be one more challenger
that history forgot?
He was no timid soul,
avoiding the chance.
He'd go down swinging.
No regrets, he would dance.
He stepped into the ring
and they stood toe to toe
They touched gloved hands together
When the bell rings, you go.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 9:52 PM UTC
Find me dancing on your shadow,
I'll be leaning on the turn.
I dream of you, for Heaven's sake. On starlit nights,
you're far away.
I call out.
To whom I do not know.
My mind dwells in distance.
My thoughts collide and trail off, out of cities;
careening ships through mist and pine.
I try to catch my balance on your eyelids as I
push down,
heavy on swollen, blue skin;
Slipping on lashes wet with
memories
that you will not share with me,
and I dare not ask about them
because I'm scared of losing my footing.
I feel your darkness like a blanket,
while I wish it would
pummel me like a flood.
Tell me, I want to know, what have you seen, boy?
Certainly war,
crushed fingers and toes;
red rivers.
What have you felt?
Certainly love, warmth, and kindness;
red satin garments.
Come on,
you've seen this before and your pulse still lingers.
Irregular,
scattered
and a little too strong, but still.
I know you've been there before,
where the fear is asphyxiating,
and sudden as a red fox in the wood.
I know you know every corner,
every thicket,
every red flag of romance.
and sometimes,
that lost love,
she palpates,
sticky in your throat.
Will you ever let me dance there,
or is that air still coarse and salty on your tongue?
Are you ever home?
Because I knock and knock on your splintered door
and I throw stones to your shattered windows
and I sleep on your scorched, frost-bitten yard
and I wait.
With impeccable patience, I wait.
I do because
sometimes behind your silence,
at that particular time of night,
you know the time,
when the moon howls at the wolf,
when the mist makes love to the pines,
and the field mouse cries,
and it is so cold,
I have to dance on your shadow,
follow the turn.
Far, far away from ego and hate and cold, steel buildings;
just a little bit adrift, hopeful, and dreamy, too.
I can't resist.
I have learned to lean,
a whirling dervish on your breeze.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC