Ghosts

•November 13, 2019 • Comments Off on Ghosts

A gift bag caught on a bare branched tree
Old cobwebs sway, too high to reach
Ancient names on a new marquee
My mind sliced thin, holes swissed like cheese

-me


Photograph by Rachel Thompson

Embrace

•November 13, 2019 • Comments Off on Embrace

That
I ruin
Everything
Pick it apart
Dissect quick
The expected
Ask too many
Questions
Why why why
And who
Does this serve
And what
Was neglected
And how
To accept it
Their shine
Overrated
Too much them
Reflected
Give me rust
Turned to dust
And from that
Creation

-me


Painting: Dust to Dust, by Yada Yakova

Split

•October 16, 2019 • 1 Comment

Sometimes
I still feel split
In two
And spilling
As if you left
Just yesterday
Took all my guts
As weaponry
You went to her
Dripping
With spoils of me
But both agreed
Your hands were clean

Oh there are days
I stay up late
To sew and stitch
The seeping stops
Rough pieces fixed
Together
Held by grit
And weathered thread
But I always fray
My skin seems not yet
Leather made

I am too soft
Sewn edges rip
The thread intact
But flesh is split
So I just dress
The emptied hollow
Halves of me
I shove my parts
In pants and sleeves
Cinch and button
Up and bleeding
My hands a mess
But form resembling
This encased undead
Shape of

-me

Painting: Tired, by Christian Kroger

Random

•October 4, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Random
Stacks of baskets
And the clacking
Of trains
On their tracks
Once well-loved
Dolls
Made of decades
Old rags
I am sad
For a moment
That I travel
This life loving
All manner
Of thises and thats
Without knowing
Whose hands
Spent time crafting
These traps
And then
When I am through
I so rarely
Look back

-me


Painting by Tom Mc Nemar

Foundation

•September 25, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Cinder blocks
Placed evenly
But painted over
Porous pieces
And rough cut
Edges smoothed
By layers slick
Enough and quickly
Sealed interior
Whitewash

-me


picture taken by me

Public Mourning

•September 24, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Oh
But how
It stings when
All of your strength
Must be poured into that space
Inside where heaving tears might spill
So that those pulling empty places
Are for a moment filled with grit
And sheer force of concrete will
As you face a flying world
With a wide dry smile
While in the corner
Of your eyes
Oh but how
It stings

-me


Painting: 1960’s Airport by Paul Mitchell

Hush

•September 12, 2019 • Leave a Comment

I sat with death
And dying
As I cried
For quite awhile
My sobs
Were lost for
Living
Stillness hard
To reconcile

– me

 
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