30 September 2014

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.

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.

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.

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.

17 August 2014

Stranded in Hy-Brasil.
You were supposed to meet me here.
Did you never come?
I keep watching
underneath the waves
the stars, blurred
and crashing -
my whole home is gone.

Did you sail straight through
thinking I was pulled under?
I woke up at the fence-line.
I keep the torches lit.
I mind the waves
the memories, blurred
and crashing -
my whole heart is gone.

If I let in this banging dark
to flow over everything
it won't put the torches all the way out
there will be a muted glow, still.
I will tie a rope around me
and loop the other end on a fence post
and I'll keep looking up
the watery stars lapping at the edges
you can find me, still.
Meet me in Hy-Brasil.

1 July 2014

Wanting something so much
that you knew nothing
except that it would never happen
because it's possible
to hope so hard
that you wish the thing
out of existence
before it ever comes into being
which leaves you
as you were
trying to put some distance
between you and this holy ghost
that you won't let go of
just in case.

Most people save their hope
for times when it seems like there's at least a chance
but you always said
that's not what hope is for
and I always liked how you spent yours -
just a trickle at first and later,
past midnight, past all reason
you open the spigot all the way
flooding the chamber
so that your holy ghost is trapped
beneath the surface
that terrible underwater light
reminding us
of all the things we never
should have wished.

26 June 2014

We are at most stolen shadows
borrowed without asking
from a stardust closet
full of sackcloth and ashes.

An unforgiving sun names us
marking our days, slanted
some of us lost around corners
others thrown off the edges of buildings
always falling
never piercing
despite our clawing efforts
to stand still.