Am I dreaming you? Or are you dreaming me? If you are dreaming me, Can I send up a request? Tug on the knots in my belly, my heart so the strings swim into the currents that separate us like the legs of a jellyfish— fluid, pulsating watchful But, if it is me dreaming you…
Brontë in the storm
Darkness billows round me cool breeze of the turbulent sky rattles me But, a spell from a distant memory bounds me And so, my feet–entrenched, will not go The tall, bent trees bear down, their leaves shaking— threaten to break canopy The heavens rumble their agreement And so, I cannot will to go I cry…
Does the wind speak of your coming?
I have never seen you in such detail as I have seen you then. The tremble in your eyes, the lips a touch darker at the edges, as you sway to the wind’s whiplash. The lime prairies behind the stifling brick house attest to your presence like a ripple over an excited crowd, jittery in…
Shape of you.
A silver comb with a missing tooth A blue chipped saucer it’s teacup, swept away A single white glove fitted for a right hand A rain sodden diary, pressed memories– faint. Things texturized from the grainy scene by moments of fragility. . .
You wear a white evening gown, hair curled, puffed and pinned to the head. You hum a tune from an old movie, something about a forbidden love, and I watch from your feet, the swish of your free skirts, the anticipation of your heart flutter dancing at your heels. I watch again from your chest…
Into the woods
I walk into the woods one night, into the woods where I know well what lurks its depths, what slithers its floors what gnaws its bones, what feasts its flesh. But, I won’t fault the woods, it is bound and we unbound still wear the forked tongue, the canines sharp, the hard shell skin deep.…
You don’t know how to wear yourself, how to arrange your bones and skin, how to shape your features around them. You just watch them and arrange, rearrange, try and try and try to see what fits. Nothing does, nothing ever did, yet you try. A million pieces arranged in a million more till you are left…
The one I let go of
Look at me, I have little to give you for I, have given so little to myself, but the one gold nugget I entrust to you, brother Etched on it are words, words that will save you, when all has forsaken you. Listen close, though you may not remember Listen, when all is dark and…
Grape lips speak.
Morning sunshine slant through the window panes birds twitter about a gossip from last night’s grapevine. Who say, fell prey to such a bite?! A lone little worm fallen from grace, shunned for daring to defy moss-covered rocks in the wake of a– thunderstorm.
The cage that you Keep.
When the maws of the trap spring up around you limbs pull in closer, tighter around your chest, guarding, suffocating mute hopelessness in a ball stricken into shaky breaths vacillating between, a quick death or black rage, knuckles bloodied on the irons All in a split, stiff— …Move Move… inch one toe forward, one foot…