silence

UNHEARD

Look at me, my pages are written in gold thread
and bound by the ancient skin of my past.
My library W-A-I-L-S in whispers of conspiracy and truths –
of desire so outcast it finds itself homeless;
a thief
carrying life upon its shelled back
turtling its way between crowds of ears
too muff’d to care or to listen.

Look at me, my story is the grand facade
of my penniless home.
My memories spill like curtains
from the sills of these eyes
into lobeless tunnels where I chase for tails;
drawstrings
that I will to capture for a moment’s audience –
a re-telling no soul might ever stay its ground to hear;
my name on this leathered spine
not enticement enough to be considered.

Look at me, my tounge-pen dribbles with needled letters.
My lips foreplay with top-stitched finery,
archiving yesterdays in self-distress like ageing wine;
time
and all its silence
slipping beneath the presser foot where it cannot be remembered;
where the archives it declines to embroider
fondle themselves alone in knots
to ravish to the last my unheard
and anonymous remains.

A GLASS HALF FULL

I am a glass half full of
everything
I feel seems to swallow me
instead of I
it
is not a smooth rush
down my open
mouth
the words that hurt me again
in ways you will never
understand
what you say before
you open your lips to
speak
through your eyes like I am
trying to do in my
silence
comes in thin spaces
between what you say and what I
don’t
know why it needs to be so complicated
when all I feel is
emptiness
fills me like a glass half full of
impotency
rides you easier than I ever could.

SILENCE LIKE WINE

it is not okay
to spill silence like wine
into my emptied heart
for it is already filling with emotion
and the hungry spaces in between
are not for getting drunk

SILENCE

Silence

And I am left speechless enough to know that words cannot fill a void like silence.

KEYBOARD ASSASSIN

I have
once more
jailed my vision
splicing diamond-cut thoughts with this
cross-bred and violently bleeding doubt that
feeds from the stomach and shreds the sanest of minds

It is here this rampant indecision
squawks in wordless tongue, lashing
its disposable fancies
(arrow-tipped precision)
at my shaking core

bowels emptying
alongside any creative thoughts of semblance

Now all that is left to bear witness: a sweaty palm or two
– and silence –
as the webbing of my fingers um and ah
hovering like midnight fireflies
over the speech-impeded womb
of my QWERTY keys

And, inside, I hear laughter

THE MOUTH OF SILENCE

Fluid,
the mouth of silence
while the drowning poet
writes to starve the
mind of words

WATER INTO WINE

These words,
bedded by the flow of interpretation
dance;
a transhuman storm of sound
– rivulets of fancy and frolics –
washing clean the silence
with a bird call
of hidden meaning.