the scar is where the word got in
digging like the worm that it is
lacking but one letter for such a metamorphosis
single-toothed it found fertile ground and began to feed
to breed, a heart sized parasite
scar, i name thee trust
——
Tag: artist
no need for repair (20161204)
–it’s broken, you said
i took it from you, turned
it in my hands
wondering if there were
some lathe that could spin true
and steady hands to hold the tools
to reshape your heart
i shrugged and handed
it back to you
–it’ll do as is, i said
metamorphosis (20161203)
i woke up with elephant
tusks protruding
curving down under my lip
i tore holes in the sheets during the night
impaled my pillow
fell twice after getting out of bed
until i found my new balance
i used a whole tube of toothpaste
brushing them
–they’re teeth aren’t they–
flossing took an hour
and i had to put the seat
all the way back in the car
to drive to work
no one else i met with
had grown overnight tusks
a girl in accounting
had sprouted a unicorn horn
and i commented
that would have been so much
more convenient
except for my hats
she said she sleeps on her stomach
and she woke up stuck to
her headboard
and her husband had to pull her free
by yanking her ankles
they were still bruised
i agreed that must have sucked
i might take up scrimshaw
i mean
it’s my ivory
cusp (20161202)
swallowing bones
and pieces of bones
breathing in smoke
it is myself burning
hands hold me down
hands open me up
set fire to my tongue
and funnel cement
into my mouth
breathe
panic
breathe
panic
enough lead
to weigh me down
i will not be
needing my eyes
for this
not ghosts (20161201)
i feel it
standing behind me
the spectre of that old man
shaped like my father
on the outside
on the inside
with a shadow
neither long nor dark
no chills race up my spine
but there is that whisper
you too
you too
nails (20161130)
if you could find
a nail from the cross
what color would it be
stained red and
glistening yet
after all these years
or just a pile of rust
(still the right color)
but destroyed by the
slow burn of oxygen
and time
Final (November) Open Mic
Here it is, the last post I am adding to the November Open Mic. It is my own piece. I realized that I couldn’t close the month without contributing something. My wife even told me that would be “bad form.”
I thank you all for listening, and for checking out the November Open Mic page for all the other great contributions.
Tomorrow is the first day of December. Start thinking about what you want to post this last month of a very long, very turbulent year. How many artists did we lose, how much hope, how much starlight gave way to the pitch of night?
Just remember, we’re all stars. We all shine. We can fill the night sky with fire.
Crow
long enough (words)
the tin man’s burden (20161129)
just below the ribs
that’s where i feel you
like a hand inserted
under the bones
fingers warm-soaked
cradling my heart
i feel every whorl
of your fingerprints
every crease of every
line in your palm
leaves a mark
and i beat
long enough (20161128)
sit still long enough and hear
the universe howl in your ears
bees dog-piling on an intruder
the rim of a wine glass
flicked by a broken acrylic fingernail
the silence in the house
when everyone is gone but you
sit still long enough and feel
the universe press in on you
the falsity of gravity
a grey boundary between
your ass and the chair
your skin expanding at light speed
while the universe expands a little bit slower
sit still long enough and regrow
your amputated limbs
stop hitting yourself
taste blood as it drips from sinuses
into your throat
stop hitting yourself
drool as you teethe with a low-grade fever
sit still long enough and you won’t have to wait
for last rites
for burial
for cremation
for eulogies
stop hitting
for silence
——
revised: 20161130
heart of stone (20161127)
the heart of the stone
makes no noise
when it beats
the heart of the stone
does not bleed
when injured
the heart of the stone
splits in the cold
cracks unseen
the heart of the stone
is the heart
trapped in my chest
Words and Feathers 