Every drop of rain
standing on the ledge of the storm cloud
wind whipping through their hair
one trembling hand gripping the window frame
the other hanging limp
burned eyes misted over
obscuring where the ledge ends
and tragedy begins.
Thunder and lightning begin to chant,
"Jump"
while the cloud chokes out a whispered,
"Stay"
before everything falls apart.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Friday, September 26, 2014
26 September 2014
I never asked you about that scar
mostly because I knew exactly what happened
and who was to blame
but also because I'd heard you
tell lies about it so many times
I wasn't sure if you remembered the truth anymore
and I didn't want to be the one
to remind you.
mostly because I knew exactly what happened
and who was to blame
but also because I'd heard you
tell lies about it so many times
I wasn't sure if you remembered the truth anymore
and I didn't want to be the one
to remind you.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
24 September 2014
Swirling in a glass
taking odds on being drunk
or spilled
or poured back.
Sparking the flint
wanting to be held in that perfect moment
before everything burns.
Lingering over the cinders
asking the vanishing glow
to come back.
Lying across the tracks
waiting for resolve or regret
or a train
to show.
I guess they don't
call it The Witching Hour
for nothing.
taking odds on being drunk
or spilled
or poured back.
Sparking the flint
wanting to be held in that perfect moment
before everything burns.
Lingering over the cinders
asking the vanishing glow
to come back.
Lying across the tracks
waiting for resolve or regret
or a train
to show.
I guess they don't
call it The Witching Hour
for nothing.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
11 September 2014
I remember nothing.
It's my only defense.
I don't want my memory jogged.
I want my memory dragged
out of his safe place
claws scrabbling at the felt
delivered shellshocked into the street.
I want my memory roughed up
by some unsavory characters
in an alley behind a bar
after last call.
I want my memory forced to fight
against insurmountable odds - unarmed,
when the other guys
all have knives.
I want my memory romanticized
for refusing to hand over my last 5 dollars
not out of bravery
but because threats were made.
I want my memory shoved
face down into the concrete
for having a look in his eyes
that was familiar.
I want my memory exposed
picking locks underwater
like Houdini in an empty theater
practicing for the grand finale.
I want my memory felled -
hurt and blue and drifting
knowing that in those final moments
no one is coming with the ax.
I remember nothing
just the way I want it
just the way it happened
the key jostling the mechanism
keeping everything locked up tight.
It's my only defense.
I don't want my memory jogged.
I want my memory dragged
out of his safe place
claws scrabbling at the felt
delivered shellshocked into the street.
I want my memory roughed up
by some unsavory characters
in an alley behind a bar
after last call.
I want my memory forced to fight
against insurmountable odds - unarmed,
when the other guys
all have knives.
I want my memory romanticized
for refusing to hand over my last 5 dollars
not out of bravery
but because threats were made.
I want my memory shoved
face down into the concrete
for having a look in his eyes
that was familiar.
I want my memory exposed
picking locks underwater
like Houdini in an empty theater
practicing for the grand finale.
I want my memory felled -
hurt and blue and drifting
knowing that in those final moments
no one is coming with the ax.
I remember nothing
just the way I want it
just the way it happened
the key jostling the mechanism
keeping everything locked up tight.
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