November 2022
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Was it always a stillness?Or a cloaked gentleness? This repeatedexhaust, a motionless stir in a senselessdeprivation from being well,after asked if I am well. Listless inside a vacancyafter knowing I have lost my soul,bleeding here where a canvas used to bepainted in Heaven’s colors, as I often confuse a curewith moments I cannot mirror. I…
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If in the presentation, I choose tohug the bark of strange trees,I’ll hope with rushes plungingfrom softened eyes that those rootslike hands, can form their gestureof prayer to a man with his years in ruin,with his gaze always looking awayfrom a rotting sun in a fatal distance. Whoever thought that sadness could melt?Whoever thought that…
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Open your bruises. Keep your eyesthe music of waterfalls. I longto kiss the daytime into silence,while we caress, when we undressall our wounds into becomingscenery we cannot ignore,cannot come to abhor. Take the message of a rotten man.Hear his plea, from beneath,where sickness is his parasite,and also, his appetite. He holds blood in his hands,brought…
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Fade beyond curtains. Leave,while this world gathersin this empty room. White walls,decorated halls. Tables setwithout a fire to burnneedless smiles down. A candle is all that remains,with its wax, the taxto waste for no betterment.I’ll melt, fusing in withcolors and limited smoke,before everything enters darkness,before no morning ever arrives. For eyes will sting with tears,ears…
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The better we are, without leaning intoa moment undressed in the tattered wildof our minds. Listen to those crows.Do they know something? Another injuryto count against the reflectionof what we share, consciously. Love holds roses, bleak and barren,dried without tears to water them,because we stood on clouds,hoping we were fallingfor nothing better. Nothing better than…
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Masterful to tell. Another head to roll,another chance to take, before drifting offwithout those symptoms we clutched upon,sick and always comforted, in our fever,in our warmth. What lies are we telling?What enemies are we escaping fromwhen we are turning into corners? Culling our own herd. Lessening the approach,the tears that fall from burning hands,caught under…
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Change your scenery. Neither of our sickness,not a hand, held upon an open, bruised heartcould have quickened us with its pace.We were steppingstones, healing if onlyto be torn, flooded, with the damwe held back or broke open, as perhaps doors should stay closedwhen we step out, after we cryfor another time in hearing our echoes.…
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Enter a trail. Repeat the wounds.Let us hunger over another entre,and leave us jeopardized. Another state to heal us,too late. Another reflectionto find closed wounds, reopeninglike book covers, as our eyesare the memories inside the pagesto go blank, reintroducingourselves to colored wounds, after a period of denying the ending,when a period was never there. Leave…
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Someone told us to not look away.No more to turn awayfrom where we ended a chapter,and closed our eyes. Once, in standing there.Next to hear our sudden heartbeatcontinue its vain deceitfor a love we could never defeat,within everything we did reapunder our feet,beneath doomsday’s clouds, that came from everywhereto gather here,the middle of nowhere. For…
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There, you left. Choosing to bleedfor eternity. Though you will return,coming back for the need,the need to know that your hurtcan continue to lead. Watered eyes replace no drought,reprieve no such effectsupon a disused garden, as your hands tremble in thisdim evening of your fading bliss. Take shelter in more ruins,tell your tale to another…
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A grave. Open and wide, like a mother’s arms. Water comes in from pouring rain, filling up that gap, as the soil absorbs nothing. He sees the scenery in me, the mirror. The mirror, another one of them, although there is only one of me in this corner of Dan’s room. Only one of me…
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Halfway drowned, backwardsfrom being crowned. Our behaviorshave stayed, to fell our grace,have stayed to regain this spacesifted in, like ashes to be lost within.We look back, we turn back,and we are reassured within fissures,spaces that divide,alongside sickness to subside. To take us down, inside Hellish sound.Because we were not meant to belifted for Heaven, and…
Modern Romanticism 