Only You
I’m too far gone to breathe you in,
hands too weak to untie this noose.
With broken jaws and blistered lips
we bleed through the teeth,
eyes locked on the cracks in the sidewalk.
We wrote each other’s epitaphs,
rotten words form rotting corpses,
shin bones prematurely decayed
into dust.
The pecan tree I planted
above your still-warm flesh,
produces fruit that only tastes of you.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Bruised
Bruised
A finger pressed hard
against a bruise as fresh
as yesterday’s bread,
lips form an O,
eyes reeling fast
find ceiling cracks.
Concentrate on anything else.
Not on teeth, not on hips
or the trailing of lips across
that shadowy place
above your eyelid’s crease.
Even eyelashes can stretch
upwards, to meet moving flesh,
towards reawakened desire.
Pulse beats faster, faster,
no knowing if this moment is the last
or if every second fades
into another shade of gray,
another broken vow, toes curling,
fingers scrabbling.
Hands find mountain ranges,
peaks and valleys as strange as
entirely new worlds hidden
among scraps of deceptive clothing.
The clock ticks from the wall,
reminders that this will all
fall apart, eventually,
when it strikes twelve.
A finger pressed hard
against a bruise as fresh
as yesterday’s bread,
lips form an O,
eyes reeling fast
find ceiling cracks.
Concentrate on anything else.
Not on teeth, not on hips
or the trailing of lips across
that shadowy place
above your eyelid’s crease.
Even eyelashes can stretch
upwards, to meet moving flesh,
towards reawakened desire.
Pulse beats faster, faster,
no knowing if this moment is the last
or if every second fades
into another shade of gray,
another broken vow, toes curling,
fingers scrabbling.
Hands find mountain ranges,
peaks and valleys as strange as
entirely new worlds hidden
among scraps of deceptive clothing.
The clock ticks from the wall,
reminders that this will all
fall apart, eventually,
when it strikes twelve.
Crash
Crash
Dashboard meets
shin bone, patella
smashed hard
into glove compartment handle,
thigh cracks
under pressure.
Pelvis clings to leather,
joints snapping back
into place,
ribs find resistance
causing whiplash,
neck straining
to retain
normalcy.
Eyes wide,
mouth opens in
silent scream.
Windshield shatters,
metal buckling,
spinning,
straight into
darkness.
Dashboard meets
shin bone, patella
smashed hard
into glove compartment handle,
thigh cracks
under pressure.
Pelvis clings to leather,
joints snapping back
into place,
ribs find resistance
causing whiplash,
neck straining
to retain
normalcy.
Eyes wide,
mouth opens in
silent scream.
Windshield shatters,
metal buckling,
spinning,
straight into
darkness.
Gravitron
Gravitron
The floor drops out,
disappears,
like Josh’s dad on Sunday nights,
like the football we left in the street
that one day when the pool’s
seductive, chlorinated waters beckoned.
Anything you drop gets sucked out
into another dimension,
so if you lose a shoe,
that’s it, it’s gone forever.
You have to hold onto the bar
really tight,
or you’ll go flying out into space, too.
“It’s true! I saw it happen, I swear!”
That isn’t funny, let’s
throw rocks at the lamppost
instead of going, okay?
The floor drops out,
disappears,
like Josh’s dad on Sunday nights,
like the football we left in the street
that one day when the pool’s
seductive, chlorinated waters beckoned.
Anything you drop gets sucked out
into another dimension,
so if you lose a shoe,
that’s it, it’s gone forever.
You have to hold onto the bar
really tight,
or you’ll go flying out into space, too.
“It’s true! I saw it happen, I swear!”
That isn’t funny, let’s
throw rocks at the lamppost
instead of going, okay?
Gangrene
Gangrene
A human being spends,
on average,
up to two whole weeks of their life
kissing other human beings.
You were only eighteen
when you died.
Where did your number fall?
Flames leave marks on flesh
like lips, like teeth do,
metal bites down harder
but we’re all left scarred.
I saw the car that held you
crushed,
like a soda can,
its embrace too forceful –
people perish this way daily.
No one dies from kissing.
A human being spends,
on average,
up to two whole weeks of their life
kissing other human beings.
You were only eighteen
when you died.
Where did your number fall?
Flames leave marks on flesh
like lips, like teeth do,
metal bites down harder
but we’re all left scarred.
I saw the car that held you
crushed,
like a soda can,
its embrace too forceful –
people perish this way daily.
No one dies from kissing.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I Could Live in Bathe
I Could Live in Bathe
Nothing stays whole. Everything splinters
into shards, fragments of ‘used to be’,
‘never was’, or ‘might have been’.
We work hard for simplicity.
Once gained, it seems meaningless,
as do our lives,
and each part of the world falls off,
or, so it seems to the untrained eye,
the disbeliever at Pompeii
who claims no harm, no foul,
even when magma turns his feet to stone,
or the unseeing, all-knowing
scholar of the ancient world who follows Copernicus,
proclaiming ‘oh yes, the sun revolves around the earth,
of course!’ and ‘That Galileo is a madman!’
Will we always be led by incompetent blunderers
happy to parrot the ideas of others
while letting their brains turn to ash?
What if Columbus, deterred by erroneous minds,
had conceded that he was wrong,
the earth was indeed flat,
allowing himself to be locked away while
his boats turned to moldy remnants, his
sailors disappearing over the edge of the world?
Can we be so easily mistaken for sheep,
or swine, or cattle even?
Do our feelings mean so little to our tiny brains that we
block them out, block ourselves out
of our enriched fantasy lives?
Can emotion run a country?
Can a smile really ruin your day?
Do lost souls find their way back eventually?
Or do they wander alone forever?
I’m not sure of that, just like
I’m not sure whether Pluto is aware
of the fact that it is no longer a planet.
Do planets have conscious minds like human beings?
Could we just communicate with them across space and time
and deep expanses of space?
No, we haven’t the technology.
Perhaps we never will.
We’re too busy debating about aborted fetuses,
various social anxieties and abnormalities,
when what we need to focus on
slips silently into oblivion.
Produce for the starving,
movement of tanks in far-off deserts,
are these all just far-flung hopes we’ll never see through?
When the time comes, I will gladly jump
from the highest precipice with you,
no questions asked. It will be great
to not exist for once, to n’existe pas with you
where wars are only things we read about in history books
or reenact with toy swords in our backyards.
Where calendar dates dissolve,
like plump hands now turned to bone,
we will not exist with fingers crossed and eyes wide shut.
“Fractions fit together never form the whole”,
therefore, whole is but a lie.
Parts long to touch but never align just right.
Every morning, we’ve less eyelashes, hair,
fingernails, thoughts. Are we nothing but imperfections?
Entropy seems so vast, yet
it cannot exist without loss of the whole –
which, in its nonexistence,
cancels out the universe.
I was lost once. But no longer.
A verbless noun still stands on its own.
The girl born four-fingered cannot knit,
she lacks opposable thumbs and therefore
cannot declare a thumb war.
I win by default.
We will live like kings when society lies in ruins.
We will fashion houses out of twigs,
and rejoice, even when our hair grows grey,
even if we set our souls afire
just to watch them burn.
And each part of the whole will fall,
like leaves in Autumn,
the sun rays in your eyes.
The world will revolve around your lips
and I will write you love sonnets.
Where there is no ink, I will use blood.
I shall be the new Shakespeare.
Our lives will join together,
like a bruise progressing backwards,
like your sweater unraveling into spools of thread.
What of when we will exist purely in soul?
When the moon ceases to reflect sunlight,
when our parachutes refuse to unfurl so
we plummet.
I’m ill-equipped for skydiving,
less so for rejection.
You hand me my words,
we’ll toast incongruity
like we’re defining wicked
(Shaken Baby Syndrome).
Ten feet under salt and sea,
yet still I attempt breathing as your fingers unlace
me, I’m a flower in bloom.
We’re no love out of convenience,
even if we are, forgive me, but
I’d rather cling to my vain, tortured semblance of romance.
I’d not give it up for my weight in gold.
I’d rather be useless and beautiful,
like a plastic fruit display in the heart of the Sahara,
then admit my whole existence exists purely in my own imagination.
I will savor our game of pretend,
played out amongst this meaningless war,
this corrupt society which we are forced to inhabit
until our veins cease to function,
heart’s slowing their rhythmic pump.
I hope my pale visage is the last thing you ever see.
Nothing stays whole. Everything splinters
into shards, fragments of ‘used to be’,
‘never was’, or ‘might have been’.
We work hard for simplicity.
Once gained, it seems meaningless,
as do our lives,
and each part of the world falls off,
or, so it seems to the untrained eye,
the disbeliever at Pompeii
who claims no harm, no foul,
even when magma turns his feet to stone,
or the unseeing, all-knowing
scholar of the ancient world who follows Copernicus,
proclaiming ‘oh yes, the sun revolves around the earth,
of course!’ and ‘That Galileo is a madman!’
Will we always be led by incompetent blunderers
happy to parrot the ideas of others
while letting their brains turn to ash?
What if Columbus, deterred by erroneous minds,
had conceded that he was wrong,
the earth was indeed flat,
allowing himself to be locked away while
his boats turned to moldy remnants, his
sailors disappearing over the edge of the world?
Can we be so easily mistaken for sheep,
or swine, or cattle even?
Do our feelings mean so little to our tiny brains that we
block them out, block ourselves out
of our enriched fantasy lives?
Can emotion run a country?
Can a smile really ruin your day?
Do lost souls find their way back eventually?
Or do they wander alone forever?
I’m not sure of that, just like
I’m not sure whether Pluto is aware
of the fact that it is no longer a planet.
Do planets have conscious minds like human beings?
Could we just communicate with them across space and time
and deep expanses of space?
No, we haven’t the technology.
Perhaps we never will.
We’re too busy debating about aborted fetuses,
various social anxieties and abnormalities,
when what we need to focus on
slips silently into oblivion.
Produce for the starving,
movement of tanks in far-off deserts,
are these all just far-flung hopes we’ll never see through?
When the time comes, I will gladly jump
from the highest precipice with you,
no questions asked. It will be great
to not exist for once, to n’existe pas with you
where wars are only things we read about in history books
or reenact with toy swords in our backyards.
Where calendar dates dissolve,
like plump hands now turned to bone,
we will not exist with fingers crossed and eyes wide shut.
“Fractions fit together never form the whole”,
therefore, whole is but a lie.
Parts long to touch but never align just right.
Every morning, we’ve less eyelashes, hair,
fingernails, thoughts. Are we nothing but imperfections?
Entropy seems so vast, yet
it cannot exist without loss of the whole –
which, in its nonexistence,
cancels out the universe.
I was lost once. But no longer.
A verbless noun still stands on its own.
The girl born four-fingered cannot knit,
she lacks opposable thumbs and therefore
cannot declare a thumb war.
I win by default.
We will live like kings when society lies in ruins.
We will fashion houses out of twigs,
and rejoice, even when our hair grows grey,
even if we set our souls afire
just to watch them burn.
And each part of the whole will fall,
like leaves in Autumn,
the sun rays in your eyes.
The world will revolve around your lips
and I will write you love sonnets.
Where there is no ink, I will use blood.
I shall be the new Shakespeare.
Our lives will join together,
like a bruise progressing backwards,
like your sweater unraveling into spools of thread.
What of when we will exist purely in soul?
When the moon ceases to reflect sunlight,
when our parachutes refuse to unfurl so
we plummet.
I’m ill-equipped for skydiving,
less so for rejection.
You hand me my words,
we’ll toast incongruity
like we’re defining wicked
(Shaken Baby Syndrome).
Ten feet under salt and sea,
yet still I attempt breathing as your fingers unlace
me, I’m a flower in bloom.
We’re no love out of convenience,
even if we are, forgive me, but
I’d rather cling to my vain, tortured semblance of romance.
I’d not give it up for my weight in gold.
I’d rather be useless and beautiful,
like a plastic fruit display in the heart of the Sahara,
then admit my whole existence exists purely in my own imagination.
I will savor our game of pretend,
played out amongst this meaningless war,
this corrupt society which we are forced to inhabit
until our veins cease to function,
heart’s slowing their rhythmic pump.
I hope my pale visage is the last thing you ever see.
Just Because
Just Because
Because life has no backspace option,
no eraser large enough
to rub you out,
I’m left to shred Polaroids
into my red metal wastebasket.
The walls, stripped bare
of frozen moments
seem to echo my thoughts,
so empty,
you could hear a pin drop.
Because you tire of this,
so quickly, your eyes black
as you delivered a speech
devoid of emotion –
“I don’t think we mesh well”
and “Let’s just be friends” –
because this existed,
I rip myself into pieces
to hand out like party favors.
Because life has no backspace option,
no eraser large enough
to rub you out,
I’m left to shred Polaroids
into my red metal wastebasket.
The walls, stripped bare
of frozen moments
seem to echo my thoughts,
so empty,
you could hear a pin drop.
Because you tire of this,
so quickly, your eyes black
as you delivered a speech
devoid of emotion –
“I don’t think we mesh well”
and “Let’s just be friends” –
because this existed,
I rip myself into pieces
to hand out like party favors.
Carousel
Carousel
Child’s eye sees everything
gigantic, never-ending.
Maybe it’s because we are so small
that even playground structures
seem skyscrapers in the sand.
I remember spinning around the Disney carousel,
horse the size of an elephant
ebbing and flowing underneath me,
Cinderella castle rising, magnificent and huge
in the background.
My vision blurred, I clung to reins,
the only tie retaining me on this earth.
It was, in a word, terrifying.
Child’s eye sees everything
gigantic, never-ending.
Maybe it’s because we are so small
that even playground structures
seem skyscrapers in the sand.
I remember spinning around the Disney carousel,
horse the size of an elephant
ebbing and flowing underneath me,
Cinderella castle rising, magnificent and huge
in the background.
My vision blurred, I clung to reins,
the only tie retaining me on this earth.
It was, in a word, terrifying.
Dear B –
Dear B –
I will follow your rules
to a point, but then –
I will wait no longer.
I’m afraid my patience wears thin
very, very quickly, my dear.
Your hands are warm, in mine,
or on the small of my back,
but we’re afraid of each other’s reactions,
aren’t we now?
This fear turns my moments to awkward embraces.
Maybe we’re both just sending mixed signals,
confusing this maybe relationship to
almost beyond repair,
you stringing me along
like a yoyo on a broken string,
me repeating the same words
“but I can’t, I can’t”.
I will follow your rules
to a point, but then –
I will wait no longer.
I’m afraid my patience wears thin
very, very quickly, my dear.
Your hands are warm, in mine,
or on the small of my back,
but we’re afraid of each other’s reactions,
aren’t we now?
This fear turns my moments to awkward embraces.
Maybe we’re both just sending mixed signals,
confusing this maybe relationship to
almost beyond repair,
you stringing me along
like a yoyo on a broken string,
me repeating the same words
“but I can’t, I can’t”.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Heavy Metal: Goes with Silk
Heavy Metal: Goes with Silk
Your lips, my neck.
My entire existence wraps around you.
Can passion solve all the world’s troubles
or does it just cause them?
What did our ancestors know of love like this?
Their pretense, devoid of lust, sweet carnal desire.
Corseted, full-skirted women,
Gentlemanly handshakes, stern-faced chaperones.
Could they ever have imagined love like this?
Fevered, inspired, driven
almost to the point of madness,
to that point of sweet, spinning starlight,
the creation of universes,
the unbroken silence in the aftermath of our union.
Your lips, my neck.
You whisper words of devotion
and I am devoid of all conflict,
still and silent in your eyes.
You are the pull of the ocean,
making me content just to lie here
and let you crash over me all night.
Your lips, my neck.
My entire existence wraps around you.
Can passion solve all the world’s troubles
or does it just cause them?
What did our ancestors know of love like this?
Their pretense, devoid of lust, sweet carnal desire.
Corseted, full-skirted women,
Gentlemanly handshakes, stern-faced chaperones.
Could they ever have imagined love like this?
Fevered, inspired, driven
almost to the point of madness,
to that point of sweet, spinning starlight,
the creation of universes,
the unbroken silence in the aftermath of our union.
Your lips, my neck.
You whisper words of devotion
and I am devoid of all conflict,
still and silent in your eyes.
You are the pull of the ocean,
making me content just to lie here
and let you crash over me all night.
No Details About Risk
No Details About Risk
Are you the unspoken link between Heaven and Hell?
Clasped hands, cold sweat,
you’re clinging to shreds of what was.
It is no longer, maybe it never has been.
Maybe it’s some half-cocked fantasy
dredged up from the wells of your fevered imagination.
I think I am, too.
Don’t you see how translucent we are?
Like panes of glass in an armored car
shattered by the sniper’s blow,
we’ll fall to pieces any moment
leaving blood on the stairs
for the police to find.
Shin bone, jaw bone,
jagged fracture here, due to high pressure,
no sign of a bullet wound,
or a struggle.
Are you the unspoken link between Heaven and Hell?
Clasped hands, cold sweat,
you’re clinging to shreds of what was.
It is no longer, maybe it never has been.
Maybe it’s some half-cocked fantasy
dredged up from the wells of your fevered imagination.
I think I am, too.
Don’t you see how translucent we are?
Like panes of glass in an armored car
shattered by the sniper’s blow,
we’ll fall to pieces any moment
leaving blood on the stairs
for the police to find.
Shin bone, jaw bone,
jagged fracture here, due to high pressure,
no sign of a bullet wound,
or a struggle.
The Fourth Wall is Broken
The Fourth Wall is Broken
Let the blood seep.
It is only necessary to live,
why worry needlessly?
She is not afraid, so neither should you be.
The floodgate machinery is operational,
to say the least.
It won’t break down again, they say.
Although, we hired that Disney engineer
and God knows,
if we get stuck on “It’s a Small World” one more time,
I won’t hesitate to kill him off.
I’d rather tears.
Let the blood seep.
It is only necessary to live,
why worry needlessly?
She is not afraid, so neither should you be.
The floodgate machinery is operational,
to say the least.
It won’t break down again, they say.
Although, we hired that Disney engineer
and God knows,
if we get stuck on “It’s a Small World” one more time,
I won’t hesitate to kill him off.
I’d rather tears.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Dinnertime
Dinnertime
You are not my story to tell.
Daddy just hit mommy at the dinner table
and now we’re all scrambling
for anything at all to say
to break this silence.
Action…reaction.
You slide the green beans off your plate,
I watch the dog swallow them whole.
We’ll be coughing up blood
for years to come.
You are not my story to tell.
Daddy just hit mommy at the dinner table
and now we’re all scrambling
for anything at all to say
to break this silence.
Action…reaction.
You slide the green beans off your plate,
I watch the dog swallow them whole.
We’ll be coughing up blood
for years to come.
Galaxy
Galaxy
Here on the bridge of uncertainty
in the very spiraling center of the universe,
you are three stars to the right
and I am living in a galaxy full,
of my fears of rejection.
Pull the swinging step,
a ladder of broken windowpanes
leading straight to Saturn,
where I will paint your eyes a million times over
to show you that I would be devoted,
for devotion does exist.
Swirling sunlight stings my bare arms,
leaving me raw as hamburger,
raw as my tender, beating heart.
Here on the bridge of uncertainty
in the very spiraling center of the universe,
you are three stars to the right
and I am living in a galaxy full,
of my fears of rejection.
Pull the swinging step,
a ladder of broken windowpanes
leading straight to Saturn,
where I will paint your eyes a million times over
to show you that I would be devoted,
for devotion does exist.
Swirling sunlight stings my bare arms,
leaving me raw as hamburger,
raw as my tender, beating heart.
Specifically – You
Specifically – You
The way her hair fell in her eyes,
fragments of a deep pupil and iris
peeking through delicate, dark curtains.
His fingers, rough-padded,
but soft upon her lily-white skin,
swirled across her cheeks,
forming the permanent blush
that lives there even now.
Electric currents between them:
they are two points on a continuous line
with no eyes but those for one another.
Arms curl around curved backs,
rounded legs and stomachs,
holding tightly to every thread of life.
Her eyes, his eyes,
they part and meet and fuse –
every motion slows.
The world turns and they
are the single spinning point
of the universe.
The way her hair fell in her eyes,
fragments of a deep pupil and iris
peeking through delicate, dark curtains.
His fingers, rough-padded,
but soft upon her lily-white skin,
swirled across her cheeks,
forming the permanent blush
that lives there even now.
Electric currents between them:
they are two points on a continuous line
with no eyes but those for one another.
Arms curl around curved backs,
rounded legs and stomachs,
holding tightly to every thread of life.
Her eyes, his eyes,
they part and meet and fuse –
every motion slows.
The world turns and they
are the single spinning point
of the universe.
Falling in Love
Falling in Love
Why do they call it falling? I understand why it would come to mind when one is stumbling, crashing, tripping, fumbling into love with someone when it’s unrequited. When it hurts. When it’s wrong. When it’s ignored and left to crumble into nothingness in the cold, unfeeling Winter wind. When it’s crushed under an uncaring heel, and all you’re left with is shreds of your heart and dignity. But what of love when it’s grand? Returned. Right. Wonderful. When it’s taken in and lifted up and held close to the other’s heart and caressed tenderly by loving hands? Falling does not apply then. Floating. Flying. Soaring. Rollercoaster, excited riders bursting for the thrill. Seagulls circling, lofty upon the breeze, lighting upon the white capped ocean waves. Twirling. Spinning. All light and stars and deep-ocean-blue, golden sunshine and molten sunsets, flowers blooming from between your fingertips.
I have tasted that love, that feeling, once. Yet now, I fear it is gone forever.
Why do they call it falling? I understand why it would come to mind when one is stumbling, crashing, tripping, fumbling into love with someone when it’s unrequited. When it hurts. When it’s wrong. When it’s ignored and left to crumble into nothingness in the cold, unfeeling Winter wind. When it’s crushed under an uncaring heel, and all you’re left with is shreds of your heart and dignity. But what of love when it’s grand? Returned. Right. Wonderful. When it’s taken in and lifted up and held close to the other’s heart and caressed tenderly by loving hands? Falling does not apply then. Floating. Flying. Soaring. Rollercoaster, excited riders bursting for the thrill. Seagulls circling, lofty upon the breeze, lighting upon the white capped ocean waves. Twirling. Spinning. All light and stars and deep-ocean-blue, golden sunshine and molten sunsets, flowers blooming from between your fingertips.
I have tasted that love, that feeling, once. Yet now, I fear it is gone forever.
Equus
Equus
Bright-eyed foal
I scratch onto ancient parchment,
hind legs kicked up,
head thrown back merrily.
This is my foal.
I’ll sketch my bridle round its nose,
take the reins into my hands to control him.
Yet, he will remain,
long after I am dust within the ground,
dark back twisted in the air,
legs thrown out towards the sky.
The white patch between his eyes
glows in the darkness.
Bright-eyed foal
I scratch onto ancient parchment,
hind legs kicked up,
head thrown back merrily.
This is my foal.
I’ll sketch my bridle round its nose,
take the reins into my hands to control him.
Yet, he will remain,
long after I am dust within the ground,
dark back twisted in the air,
legs thrown out towards the sky.
The white patch between his eyes
glows in the darkness.
Sweetness
Sweetness
Caught, like the mosquitoes of old
struggling in amber
til it encased them,
whole and perfect.
We are sinners in the night’s dark embrace,
fumbling with zippers and buckles,
fingers and lips and thighs.
Don’t liken sex to dinosaurs hunting –
velicoraptors stalking in their merry band
with deadly claws unsheathed and waiting,
ready to leap upon their prey.
My opinions on you
aren’t worth much more
than a child’s indecipherable scribbling
on otherwise pristine walls.
Decipher my loops, my lightning bolts,
they really mean one thing –
devotion.
Caught, like the mosquitoes of old
struggling in amber
til it encased them,
whole and perfect.
We are sinners in the night’s dark embrace,
fumbling with zippers and buckles,
fingers and lips and thighs.
Don’t liken sex to dinosaurs hunting –
velicoraptors stalking in their merry band
with deadly claws unsheathed and waiting,
ready to leap upon their prey.
My opinions on you
aren’t worth much more
than a child’s indecipherable scribbling
on otherwise pristine walls.
Decipher my loops, my lightning bolts,
they really mean one thing –
devotion.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Ebola
Ebola
Pull together my shattered ribs,
the shreds of muscle laying within
still beat some morbid tattoo upon my skin.
Dig your fingers in deep enough
to reach straining lungs,
failing kidneys,
weeping organs, liquefying.
Don’t stay, don’t get too near,
the end is creeping up on me –
ready to bring forth the crimson tides
from every orifice,
jerking limbs,
mouth spraying,
drenching every wall crayola red.
Everyone within this room is doomed.
Every inch of my life’s blood
is bursting, bursting
with death and virus smarter
than our scientists could ever imagine.
The nurse who lifts her scarlet-stained hand
to her mouth, in disbelief,
the doctor who wipes his eyes
leaving a mask of ruby-red,
and you – standing watch over me,
with your face and arms covered
in my sweet vein-song.
You will all meet your untimely ends
just
like
me.
Pull together my shattered ribs,
the shreds of muscle laying within
still beat some morbid tattoo upon my skin.
Dig your fingers in deep enough
to reach straining lungs,
failing kidneys,
weeping organs, liquefying.
Don’t stay, don’t get too near,
the end is creeping up on me –
ready to bring forth the crimson tides
from every orifice,
jerking limbs,
mouth spraying,
drenching every wall crayola red.
Everyone within this room is doomed.
Every inch of my life’s blood
is bursting, bursting
with death and virus smarter
than our scientists could ever imagine.
The nurse who lifts her scarlet-stained hand
to her mouth, in disbelief,
the doctor who wipes his eyes
leaving a mask of ruby-red,
and you – standing watch over me,
with your face and arms covered
in my sweet vein-song.
You will all meet your untimely ends
just
like
me.
Here Lies the Bride
Here Lies the Bride
Ink-stained hands wrap
around sheared-off silk,
fastened into a makeshift wedding dress –
she’ll wander down the aisle alone,
searching for a groom.
Wilted flower bouquet lays abandoned
on the molten sidewalk,
next to a Polaroid of her veiled face.
With nowhere to hide,
nowhere to transform her longing
into something tangible,
she becomes the poem.
Ink-stained hands wrap
around sheared-off silk,
fastened into a makeshift wedding dress –
she’ll wander down the aisle alone,
searching for a groom.
Wilted flower bouquet lays abandoned
on the molten sidewalk,
next to a Polaroid of her veiled face.
With nowhere to hide,
nowhere to transform her longing
into something tangible,
she becomes the poem.
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