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Day 15 - SiltThere is a downward pull that begins slowly –
Forty years of fine red silt cease flowing through your veins
And settle like sedimentary rock.
Things, and you, begin to taste of copper.
Lavender mists condense as you walk out to fetch the paper
The kettle is whistling or the coffee roiling when you return to the kitchen.
Your lover is waiting, his beard and hair greying slightly:
Sometimes he still kisses you like he did when you were twenty three.
You start to spend your evenings in the ochre light
Of sloppily-painted sunsets which begin around the time the theme for Final Jeopardy fades out.
Coffee cups are washed, sinks drained.
Everything smells of earth and book pages with a hint of Pine-Sol.
The window is filled with the amber radiance of marigolds –he likes to garden,
While you are more careless, killing houseplants by neglect.
You promise to stop disassociating yourself, and to write less in the second person.
You get drunk less often and even jog once in a while.
Day 4 - QuietAutumn began and ended quickly
So now the sun sets early and I spend my evenings in the dark.
Today’s thoughts are quiet ones -
Where we love is where we live and die.
Day 3- North StarIt was dark when I left work today,
And I shivered as the wind slid around my bare legs.
(shouldn’t have worn a dress today, says the voice in my head.)
I try my best to ignore it. I always do.
I swear familiarly, angrily, when traffic is backed up at the bridge again –
This traffic congested tangled metal thing spanning the river
Like some kind of urban jungle gym.
But still it is the northern star of my commute and points the long way home.
I’m perched on a stool in his mother’s kitchen
With a mug of orange tea in my hands and a bowl of chicken soup with dumplings in front of me.
On the way home, my debit card is declined.
I try not to panic.
Day 2 - DetritusI squint my eyes as you kiss my freckled face
my sunstreaked hair out behind me like a banner
As I emerge from the lake with foam and seaweed clinging to my calves.
I make a face. You laugh.
Longing is a savory dish we must sit down to dine,
even as we cling together
in a tired knot with mouths that taste of lemonade and alcohol.
I whisper in your ear “I don’t want you to go.”
The night before we left a storm broke
with rain and thunder, and lightning webbed across the sky like lace.
I came to where you slept,
weaving myself into your arms.
This is the detritus of summer:
pearlescent driftwood grasped in hands worn down by sand.
Filling up our pockets with stones, memories.
A wall of tiny meaningful things we build to keep out the coming of the night.
There are no secrets here but many mysteries
And subtle, half-veiled truths waiting to be made known
Day 1- Cold HandsEveryone said a storm was coming but I did not prepare.
Perhaps I was too flippant or afraid to acknowledge?
Probably the latter –
Avoidance is my middle name.
The storm’s precursor:
Grey skies, and rain hissing its way up my windshield as the wipers, groaning,
Flung it away.
A low front settled into my chest midafternoon at the thought of leaving.
Now, I sit on the couch by the window, watching the rain fall
As the cold gradually seeps from my limbs and my fingers thaw slowly.
But isn’t a blanket a small comfort compared to you,
Immediate and present, mouth tasting of
Sour apple and blood?
Cemetery LaneDriving down Cemetery Lane
Steering wheel gripped tightly, top and bottom, taking sharp
As the radio host mourns the fate of Montana's coal industry.
We'd go behind the school with the Grecian columns
In a parking lot pooled with yellow streetlights, exploring
The darkness my mouth left on your neck.
Driving and breaking too fast
With the memory of the way each bend winds around itself
Like solemn ribbons around the tombstones.
Lying on a bed far from home
Pizza box kicked on the floor and the television flickering with the sound off.
I cannot forget the way your skin brushed mine.
MineThe past four years, I have been a nomad,
A snail, whose house is wherever her back is.
An hourglass constantly turned over and over, measuring
Time until I leave, time until I return.
I'm packing a bag with my toothbrush, my phone, and my fiancé's shirt to keep me warm
i won't be gone long, i only need a few days' worth of clothing.
Life doled out in miniscule increments like the vitamins I portion into plastic baggies
And forget to take when I am gone.
I've tired of living out of packed suitcases and half empty closets,
With a roof provided, but my heart somewhere else.
Filling out paperwork, what is my address?
When is the night where I can go to sleep and feel your arms around me,
Waking up to tangled limbs, tousled hair and no bed else to sleep in?
Tell me when I can put my bags away, throw out my arms and say
This is mine.
BrillianceI wasn't sure if I was falling asleep or drowning. Pastor Abilay had just reached the third point of this three-point outline and I was fading quickly. "The devil's 15 minutes," my father often called it. He would sit rigidly at the head of the dining room table after every Saturday dinner and warn us that just as the pastor reaches the place where Scripture is applied to our lives, we start to drift off due to the devil's influence. I always did, and it terrified me.
Pastor Abilay's sermons were an odd blend of clinical Calvinistic theology combined with the self-assured charisma of a leader whose word was law. His sermons always made me feel as if I were boxed in by walls of water and left me with a dead weight in my stomach. Just as I thought I couldn't take any more, he concluded the sermon and we moved on to the final singing. The presenter came to the front of the stage, hummed a few bars of the next Psalm, and we all began to sing. The song rolled in a rich four-part harmony tha
Come HomeCome Home
The leaves were just starting to fall as Alexander Bartel wheeled his bike out of the garage and left for work. They had been yellow and orange for a few weeks, but red veins had gradually taken over until today, when, at the hands of an incoming cold front, they began to fall like rain. The wind had awoken him early and when he woke up, so did his wife, who glared at him in the dim morning light and rolled back over. Breakfast had been instant oatmeal and instant coffee and half a glass of pulp-free orange juice. Grace liked pulp and he didn't, so they bought two separate half gallons every week. She was just waking up when he left for work but he made it out the door without her noticing.
On the whole, Grace was not very supportive. She acted as if she didn't believe him when he said he was going to work and had taken another job on the side for extra money. He always said he would help her achieve success as a writer but now she had taken the new job and rarely went to her
My blade swims in a crimson lagoon,
It's feel tasting the blood slip from cold steel.
Dagger deep in my ribs,
The fire waters my eyes and leaves me with chills.
I rip the tip from my abdomen,
And wonder what’s real.
Goosebumps cover my skin, fingers muddied in dirt,
I rise from the heap and clutch the wound with steel might,
Finishing the only thing that can kill me…
reliefi sold myself to
the solitary delight of charisma
and saw the white devil
stretching his skin stainlessly
before taking off.
he was hovering for a moment
then he said:
"you won't be back
and she will never know".
blackout and screams.
pachydermmore of a prolapse than birth
we dealt in tusks
(the bad ones)
in flop houses turned taciturn
and that's where the story gets long
littered with eyes gone runyon
and other casual ways
to carve down a mountain
on game trails beguiled
through tenement jungles
towards a graveyard we still can't discover
Lies for Loserstell me again
how this world
is better than the next
and there's love just around
4/19/14I have been looking at things a little differently of late
The something in them that attracted my attention
Or was simply present when my gaze first fell upon them
Shifts, changes shape and colour establishing a new mood a new form
Whether parlor trick or simple mimic of illusion
I know not or care merely victim of interest as to where
The path will lead me next, some new hell or forest
Caught in the folds of a jacket spread across a mans back
A grimace or a smile is quick to come depending on the length of time
Before the visions wear off and reality is once again still
For though I come back stronger I fear some day I never will
Come back at all lost in the mazes of the vines upon the wall
From Me, to YouHere I stand,
Looking at the world that I hold in my hand,
So much to understand,
Yet I'm just trying to live a life that I can brand.
I observe closely,
Looking for purpose mostly,
Trying to find a way to make everyone bliss, more than verbosely,
For longer than eternity,
For when I depart I'll just be an entity,
Hoping to leave behind pure quality,
For what I say is straight honesty.
Getting in touch with old roots,
But after awhile I go back to my new suits,
Losing it, like a baby losing their first tooth,
Feeling closed in as if I'm in a phone booth,
Meeting expectations killed the truth.
Only in time would we learn to regret,
For we all believe our future is already set,
I was given the talent to help you comprehend, there is always a reset,
But for some you may have to work hard before you rest,
For others, you may have to acquire a quest,
While others work their way up to knights from a lowly squire,
Yet the only request I require,
Is whatever category, when it comes about time
It Makes It All Too RealCan't blame the words
I write for you, ebb with ease
they've had a lot of practice; fuck
they're here because I asked them to be.
Bring to Rest My Weary SoulBring to rest my weary soul,
Let me sleep 'fore I grow old.
That hallowed place of swaying grass
Before my eyes shall never pass.
Bring to rest my weary soul.
Day is gone, burned like coal.
Now is here, but when I leave
all will fall in dreamless sleep
Cursed are you, my dreadful friend.
Can't you see I'll bring the end?
All is well inside your sleep,
My wounds are harsh, the cuts made deep.
Sing with me, my vengeance tune.
Fires clash inside the Moon.
Worried is your beating heart,
that soon from it all life will part.
Bring to rest my weary soul.
I want the peace, I crave the calm.
Voices scream inside my head
I tell them 'No, I'll sleep instead.'
My lips are cold, my heart so numb
I fail to see what I've begun.
While in this dark I see no light,
I will not give my will to fight
A goodbye kiss in my hair
Snowflakes fall while I stare
Finally it's come to pass
My sweet depart, this breath my last
But still the voices scream and shout,
'Set us free! Let us out!'
'No,' I tell them, swee
PurgatoriosI have sat in the mouth of Satan and heard his words,
Tasted his fear.
You also were there and rushed headlong into the black hole.
The sand caught fire and we ran,
Naked, noble, slicked limbs and flashing eyes.
I rejoiced in my torment, and still I ran.
"Sorrow, not loathing has fixed itself so deep within my heart.
It will be long before it is stripped away."
Time slowed and we were forbidden to run.
They ran around us, but you grasped me from behind
And I could not kiss you.
Higher we climbed, past greedy and virtuous,
Lovers and killers and tyrants, all
I am not sure if lingered long in the place where sins are burned away,
What penance we made
Or if the time for making penance was long since passed.
But when we reached the peak of Purgatorios,
We drank of the river Lethe and forgot.
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