Month: July 2017

FUTILE

I tire of love and terrorism;
the way my broken heart
lay claim to territory unknown before;
the way the softness of these blankets
fall like bombs in your wake;
the way the hunger for calm strikes and
starves and
feeds in rations;
the way the post trauma stands guard at closed eyes
and charges ahead when I wake;
the way it loops itself about my mushroom cloud
and belts its breath on my cheek.
I tire of scratching at hope like
hope will reward me for lasting the week.
I grow weary of this kamikaze daze:
my eyes, the reflection of every wound I bare.

I tire of love and terrorism:
the way my broken heart ignites from within,
limp and lost,
from so much exploding without.

ORIGAMI

Your lies are like origami –
they all start from the same shape
but take many forms

SIGHTED

should you
perhaps blindly
show an interest

this
errantly battering storm within
may cease its embryonic dance

and betroth itself
finally
in your capture

WHAT REMAINS

What remains of our more recent differences, those
saturated words fallen from the lacy cuffs of our noble tongues, the
sound-filled garments and raspy lingerie custom fit
for implication and blame – what remains

but the pungency of battered verdicts, the jesters
of white noise and spicy hung detachment, the
midnight winds of halitosis fouling casted spells:
an alphabetic bouquet of gambled persecution,
the weight of which we transport as we fade away

RISK

the only danger with
falling in love
is
being thrown
selfishly
out of it

AFTER LOSS

There comes a time when
moving forward is a monumental act
of self-preservation;
walking away,
a feat of rediscovery;
and letting go,
the key to finding true purpose.

WHIP

You are my story
and I escape within these pages
of your unmapped strength
through pauses
and the violence
that collects each letter:
another lash I want
and need
but don’t deserve