A city of half closed doors turned inside out

I have made a garden of bones, of sinew
Flowers of synapse sparking lightning to the chill night air
Pathways of blood mark the dark ways wending to the heart
Sits beating a slow rhythm of hope
Topiarys of muscle expand and contract
Exposed nerves shiver in the wind
Thoughts and dreams play out across a storm strewn sky
Broken arrow teardrops fall piercing this exposure

I wonder

I wonder if it would be better to accept that my love is dead. That there won’t be another. Much as it physically pains me to think it.

Later:  I suppose I just can’t. And I know Morgan would kick my ass for thinking that I should. She was the practical one. I miss her. 

The unclenched fist

Think me tumultuous youth
Squandered on the fractious knowing
Light obscured by the slowly melting wind
Grain by grain
Moved on
Left in a cage of grief
Too old too young too knowing
Jagged and removed
Jangle of nervousness
Anger and disappointment
What could have been
What choices led to this
Giving up
Tension runs out
Cut strings
Where to go
When there’s nothing left
And no reason to act
In the deep muffled echoes
Waiting for a word
Of warning

Sleep while waking

I’m tired. I find myself sleeping more and more. Because awake means aware and aware means thinking. My mind won’t stop grinding and grinding until the fine dust is choking. Until I can understand each piece and each conclusion or maybe just think I do. I want nothing more than to sweep you into my arms and hold you. And yet we can’t seem to find a way. Or a who. Or just a chance with the odds not tipped so badly against. I can’t be the only one who risks. I can’t break and break and shift and grow and still be here at the start. At some point, someone needs to catch me. It doesn’t work alone.


Soft feathers rip through the reflected city lights
A bowl of blue gone dark with old blood
A concealment of choices unmade
Shivers, needle sharp
Soft flesh yielding to oblivion
Shining remnants
Flash caught the light
Specks of existence melting
And depths are beckoning
The blade drinks
Dawn’s brightness
Day drinks the night
And nothing now matters

A hopeless hope is worse than nothing

I am tendrils questing out
reaching for connection
straining to directions
which once were home
just a hothouse bloom
slowly slipping into quiet
a last goodbye
a last hurrah
before the final cull

I am tendrils reaching out
And finding only

The blade cuts thrice

I have no mind to keep my heart silent
It shouts its ebbulation
A bubble filled with joy rolling up my throat
Trapped at vocal chords
You say it’s not time
And in the frenzy of my love
I swallow exhultant shouts
That now sit like lead against the dull thump
Echo ringing in ears
Voice trapped behind teeth
I’ve no mind for these types of games
But I play hoping for a different outcome

The pain sits heavy, however. Drawing tears when all I want is a you that is free. Not this trapped butterfly beating against still drying cacoon. Knowing full well you are mine only for these space of minutes between past and flight. Still, I’d cut you free, if you’d let me.

Me and my damned word. I’ll let you lead and set the pace I promised. Never knowing how cruel I was being to us both
This dance of back and forth. Stepping into one world while trapped in another.
Only you can free us, perhaps you have forgotten
Perhaps I can’t remember
This was a game pushed past boundaries

This heart held heavy in swallowed silence
Watching you wake
Let me speak
‘ere I drown
In silence

Thoughts on a New Year’s Day

I was wandering by and saw your door open.
You were crying.
You were laughing.
You were telling a story.
I stayed.
I stopped.
I listened.
And, in accordance with my nature,
I fell in love.
Just a little bit.
Just a spark.

This is what I feel about the people whose work I read regularly.
Maybe it’s wrong to fall in love with a person who is only this collection of thoughts and ideas.
Or maybe it’s the best way to fall in love
To love the mind and heart and dream
To know you would not love them less for meeting