“i have a face cut from ice
a heart pierced in a thousand places
so to remember
always the same voice
the same gestures
and my laughter
as a wall
between you and me
the ones who are most alive
seem the most still
behind the milky way
a shadow dances
our gaze climbs toward the stars”
this coffee is caramel, or piss-colored
and the question stayed choked as i slumped to the floor
and the curled carpet rose around. Ave, ave, ave…
black-and-orange caught our hips and held, soft/tight facial lines
I need to close. I am weighted.
But it is late/early morning and the sun is a one-sided hug
and we know that everyone is probably full of shit, (anarchy) but
that doesn’t stop burnt letters from whirling forth and fro….
suspended. taut line.
I wish I had a job,
just for the sheer joy of motoring back
through twilight, as the streets lighten
windows down? volume up?
maybe going home to pieces of me
little toes, shoes as long as my palm
I will love you as my own, for
you are mine and I will be yours.
(you will make me home)
did he love to read?
when he shot her eyes….do you know?
you crushed him, and this weight
on all is not yours. Do not pretend
you loved him.
I have slowly and sadly fallen in love
with this mystery, this hollow self
gently punctured and bled out, gaping.
tuck your fingers into my painted palms, I know
I burn too hot/sandy, but I would clasp you
in this fiery ring. this is our disaster.
I have destroyed you, beautifully.
what do you know? (me?)
could you speak plainly, straight up, shooter
but this stirs up so much, history
is our deep d[anger]. I miss
the compainionship, the very idea –
would you speak up or will it always be I?
this year-long rattle in my heel, finally free
oh, little stone! where did you come from?
did you chip off a Czech cobblestone? A Parisian stair?
Maybe you found me outside that coffee shop in Boston.
There’s a streak of green on your side – is it Viennese?
Perhaps it’s Guilford moss, or from the walk in the woods around Oxshott.
you have walked with me, far,
I wish I could put you back.
some people just leave
broken skin, broken bones,
but I did the breaking while you whispered
and steeled my heart. Me, endangered,
and you giving me bloody pages/poems, dark landline calls
and never forgiving the nothing I did.
arms draw out
in black, which soaks up light safely
and leaves bright contrast in limestone
I rock, smoothing the surfaces across each other until
A touch of acid and gum, the image fizzles
washed away carborundum
resin dust could give you cancer. So could asphaltum.
but etched in stone is family.