Saturday, March 31, 2012

No sharp edges

There are no sharp edges
In this thing I feel
Just this blunt end of pain
I cannot cure for myself,
No shards of glass
The cuts of which
I can stitch up
To avoid the scars,
Just this dull ache
Ever erect, always poking
Me at times I least expect
Dragging me out
Of dreams of drowning
Shaking me out
Of my daytime haze
Expanding in my mind
Like an over inflated balloon
Waiting to pop,
With me, too much a coward
to do anything about it.

Friday, March 30, 2012

The clock face of love

How many seconds pass between the clicks,
Between the sweeping arms and fading hills,
The worried looks that break the speed of sound
Between our eyes,
Again, the sweep begins,
Telling its concurrent lie, without change
With the slightest bend, out of place
A resonate nightmare
Bleeding our faces white.
We are helpless souls
Drifting sadly in the circles of a dream
Blinking on and off beneath
The flurried sparkle of a magic wand,
Blinking often,
More off than on.

Rose bush

Today, you wear silence
An angry grown sewn with threads of frost
Inspired by the reverberant winter breath
Rushing through lifeless limbs,
Frost that seals you in a winter dress
Sleeves as clear as glass,
Aching for a single thought of spring

With me the sole subscriber to some future
Only hinted at in the mists,
Your buds still tight under the kiss of wind,
Waiting for the warmth of me
To inspire you to grow

To breath hard over you,
To bring back your painted glories,
To become a sweltering homage
Only high summer can bring
To let the my tongue play over you
My fingers run through your wilted leaves
To let me become your sunlight
To warm you, and melt your
Still frozen heart,

Me aching to touch
The pedals of your inner self
With the tip of my shivering tongue.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Four Star Diner

I watch her long fingers
Grip the knife
And slowly spread butter
Across the surface of the bread,
The clatter of silverware,
The chatter of voices,
This cold Sunday in March,
Unheard except for hers,
Her hands so steady
While mind still shake,
Unnerved by her stare,
her meaning lost
in a fog like haze
sealing me into
this lonely harbor
from which I have
no will to sail,
too weak to resist her,
no matter where she
says I should go,
an Avalon and me King Arthur
with a self-inflicted wound,
bleeding into my eggs
as the knife moves
in and out,
leaving its guilty residue
showing in her eyes,
spreading over both of us
until too thin to scrape,
shredding me
layer by layer
with each cruel stroke.