Shipwreck

I lay stagnant

As the sands spill over me.
Waves crash against my face.

A savior.
My sails gently set adrift by the
Touch of the wind.
The boat rocks
But I am still.
The warm lips of the sun
Caress
Every inch of my body.
But I am cold.

Longing, Waiting.
I'll never know
How long I've been away.
How far from shore am I?

Pointless to search.
Pointless to answer.

My oars were taken away.
Stolen.
Yet I will remain,
Stagnant
As the shoreline beckons me
Onwards.

But I cannot answer the call.

Speechless, in ruin.
I may never sail again
But I still dream
Of distant soils
To burry my feet.

But a part of this ocean
Calls me further away.
I can escape,
But from what am I escaping?
Where is home
If this is all I've ever known.

I may never find a home
Between sand and tides.
But I will continue
My search
If it takes my whole life.

Everglades (working title)

This land is amorphous.

a cruel paradox

of old shadow.

- the brave

effort of geography

to remember things

ancient lost.

always a memory.

never, it feels,

alive independent.

Now coffin nail trees

groan

like some belly of a whale,

cast

in obsidian breath,

dark still,

until its burning hour.

some vengeful lights

traveled. turned

over ,

, over.

There are dreams, here.

violent and weird.

bleeding

inconstant

as the land

and sort-of-land

and not-quite-land, here -

- ready always to accept

that easy suggestive stroke

of quick hurricane shift,

upside down

and thunder eyed.

Worn

Venomous words leak
Overflowing a numbed conscience.
Flower petals fall
Leaving only camouflaged thorns.

She sit and stirs,
A thick mud of tears.
She awakens
As the smoke billows
Out of his vacant mouth.
Stains on her apron.

His calloused fingertips
Leave behind larger scars
In need of more than
A stitch or kiss.

Those calloused fingertips
Push button squares
Through threaded gaps
Over the heart
That pounds through
A Pill-covered green vest
In a civil masquerade.

High society dons
Fake smiles in darkened alley ways.
The pain could fill buckets
In nails and shrapnel;
All waiting for a fuze.


As the evening's ballroom dancer,
She puts on her gowns and coverup.

For Rachael

Risen out

of most frigid hell

stand I,

tattered naked

black

in the eyes,

absent of much soul

in them.

Death white

and

claw toothed

I killed my way

free

of the falling green

acidic storm.

Exhausted,

crushed empty

as I forced

open

a wall of fearful distortion,

my body

melting, now

through any

sense

of logical light,

burning dark

tepid breath,

I -

I am through.

numb

in presence of proof

that a beating heart

was just a fairy tale

to me,

smiling little girl,

hoping, stupid thing.

at least there is magic

in a mundane end.

Written on a Tissue

I hope your throat is
Dry
From Pills
You had to swallow,
Words you never spoke.
I hope your eyes
Burn
In distant memories
Cut into your cranium.
I hope your neck
Breaks
From all the weight
A pendulum on a chain.
I fell on
Broken ankles;
Shattered dreams,
Broken by
Words.
Pity releases,
Pain resides.

Flicker

Fireflies on silk,
Smoke-filled memories from
Decades before you
Took innocence's
Quivering hands,
Creating pathways
Of flickering light.

Dot your I's and cross your fingers

A Pendulum
Dangles
From hopeless rope.
Knots form in
Twisted Fingers,
Laced
With vindictive intentions.
I fell
To my knees
Choking on your daydreams.
My swollen ankles and
Your clammy-fisted hands.
I hope to forget.