turning

There are things
I’d like to say
Still more
I’d like to hear
But your silence slices
out my tongue
And boxes up my ears

Remembering
what your back looks like
More clearly
than your smile
I swallow mouthfuls.
of regret
And spit out a goodbye

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here I am

I’m
stealing
garbage from
your dumpster
finding less
and
less
each day
feeding off scraps
of moments
discarded
for so long now
I’m thinning
in substance
and resolve
It must be why
you barely notice me
anymore

perhaps

I have no cause to promote
just a tendency to provoke
thought and invoke lesser gods
in passing judgement
Mother I suspect
there’s no direct way to detect
the worth of just deserts
or the merit of ferreting truth
from rotted roots
clinging to history
like it could thwart extinction
or help make a distinction
between treasure and trash
and measures too rash
to consider
Between what we’ve outgrown
and what we have sown
to convince us
our instinct
to raise our fists
and pound the ground
just may be founded
on circumstance
and we’d be better off dancing madly under a lone star

the party

Pink lights with no saber
to cut through to real flavours
Just polished faces
traces hidden
between phrases
hinting at what’s missed
How I miss your kiss
tentative and light
defying the gravity
of the act
dissolving facts
into a whitewashed past

I’m out of place
and thought and time
looking for a familiar smile
the music strokes me like a stranger’s touch
There’s not much here to move me
But I can sway
if I must
just to keep the peace
and stave off sleep
that will take me to places
I’d much rather be
than standing here
with throbbing feet
waiting for a beat
that may build up
and drop
hard enough to
kickstart my heart
into leaving

hedges

I want to float on the lake
and hear the city buzz by
instead of this fly
trapped in my car
We’ve both made a wrong turn
this time

In my brain
I rearrange
the signs to spell benign
though I’m inclined
to engage in acts
more outrageous
than partially blinding myself

I pull down the visor against
the light of insight
begrudging better judgement
I think of you in small doses
half of a half of a half
to the impossible measure
where a breath’s breadth
from the treasure
I’ll lunge fully into you
and again misconstrue
all your eyes implored
until I’m lost once more

And if only my wages
were as high as the hedges
the man in the Hendrix shirt trims
Then I’d know how to fix
this mess I’m in
Instead I wonder why the rich
have streets with no sidewalks or names
And if my accent is as lame
as the woman on my phone
directing me home
when I’d rather stay lost just the same

stasis

Living is what I do
When I’m not thinking of you
I’m often in stasis these days
The sun warms my shoulders
Into feeling less old than
My bark-like skin declares

I spend my days exposed
Like light can appease thirst
And bring life to dried dirt
But it won’t
And I’m left fiddling
With thoughts too belittling
Crumbling last year’s leaves

Branch bared and limb cracked
Waiting for my spine to snap
I keep twisting
Reaching back
To rake up debris from the past
And find a match to light it
Just to keep warm through the night

that’s how it goes

There were a few
rises and dips
but there was that last one
where after the typical
free fall
you curved and bent
so gently, so kindly
to ease the transition
that this tail end
so endlessly long
now contains more
than all that came before
the first drop
and only by looking back can I see
the enormity of the past
and the seemingly endless monotonous distance ahead
that fills me with more dread
than the increase in friction
hinting of the inevitable
full stop.

outlines

A harmless thrill
soon overspilled
The stain we hide
and secretly reframe
calling it found art
Still we are compelled
every so often to hover
and read its shape
for omens or meaning
But it only foretells
how time and use
will meld it into the fabric
of the stories we will weave
to cover it
And no one will know
how it shaped them
And how it changed us

release and

Thoughts of you
dangle round my head
threads entangled in
a vague source of dread
So I won’t pull
lest you unravel
and all I’m left with
is a drabble of memories
bedraggled and worn
barely enough
to keep me warm
or patch up the pieces
torn from my heart
each time we parted

the moon is high
traffic streams by
thoughts of you
now cling to my sides
clumps of words
that burr into my mind
making me rewind
back to times
I best forget
lest they spur
acts I’ll regret

Seems I’ve yet to understand
why acceptance is so grand
when it forces its demands
and leaves nothing
So I sing this dirge
of mumbled words
in the hope I can purge
my need for wanting to hold
and have some control
before I choose
to let you go

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