"vanishings" poems
Slitting your throat
I think to the past
About when we were young
And when you said our love would last
Holding each others hands
We hugged and we kissed
Looking into each others eyes
The feeling was bliss
I remember the nights well
When others went out, we'd stay
Watching a movie together
I would hold you close as we laid
Under the covers of my bed
Touching each other with intention
The soft caresses became loud
And your wetness gave my body extension
Our bodies became one
Into each others eyes we would gaze
Not one thing mattered
Just our feelings at this stage
These feelings are now gone
As you've laid with another
Now your family will mourn
And I'll come for the other
I'll show him your death
As he's bound and gagged on this table
The story of your vanishings
Will seem like a fable
Now as you lay in the dark
And the blood starts to flow
A tear streams down my cheek
As you pulse starts to slow
Goodbye my love
I'll see you someday soon
Maybe in the next life
You'll take me faithfully, as your groom
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
Wherein the body is dead
and the mind floats for asylum,
what do the loud knocks expect
upon the door and what shall
the skull
do with such reverberations?
I will always remember you, your
blood just happened there
and my mind was you
all along.
Have me before
they take you before
your black is washed
away again by histories
and before the moon
buries you
in the nomad opening
of my tap
song swallowed
exquisite and clear
along my throat. Have me before
the seasons end and the next
golden man on screen says
we must secure our borders
and soon, instead
of turning your boats
away, they will fire
bold gunpowders, as if
in another grand campaign
of their castles
and silver.
Wherein your mind floats
away and all that is left
of your vanishings is a body:
I will not know what to do with that
but hope for the flood to take us all, arkless.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
Daddy came into my dreams last night,
His first visit since his passing.
He arrived in the red Jaguar coupe, the XKE.
In the cockpit, we kicked up the gravel,
As he spoke of some old feller he knew back when.
The torque of the engine pushed me into the leather
As we rounded tight curves.
I caught a whiff of Old Spice,
And, saw, once again the confident glimmer of his smile
As he steered into the dusty red arc of the bright afternoon.
Always leaving, he left me again, on the edge of the bright road,
In the tall greenness of wild grass bent double by the sun.
Years before, Mother laughed and looked away, told me,
“Your daddy could always find his way back to any place he had ever been.
It was a gift of his.”
In my dream he glances back as the heat of the late day takes him,
Disappearing again over a hill among the dusty pines
Into the distance, toward other roads he’s learned to know,
Far beyond the follies of memory and time.
And I am astonished at his willingness to disappear.
Everything in me that I know begs to follow and discover with him
The true course of his vanishings.
Deep inside where it counts so much,
I have never been sure of much of anything,
But if I’ve ever been sure of anything,
I have to be sure that he will remember how to get back to this road,
Someday, and that when I meet him he will take me on along with him
As if in this dream, into the sun of a dusty afternoon,
Dazzling, dark, dreadful, deadly, kind, beautiful, together.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC