floating and leaving no trace
the sky is smooth and gray
like concrete
my words are featureless
leeched of color
like concrete
three black crows harass a fourth
she has something in her beak
limp and glistening
against this morning sky
they are the only
movement
sound
color
today my hands hurt
and i struggle with the clay
cutting the base free
to mount it on more clay
to raise it up
the finger bones ache
and i think a good use for them
would be a mala necklace
i ignore the pain
in the joints
but feel it while driving home
these little betrayals
of body makes
a little more paunch
a little less hair
a little more nose
a lot more jowl
so many more things to worry about
and the constant threat
of pain in the feet
of pain in the hands
the chest
memento mori
i count these off
on my finger bones
om mani padme hum
——
it’s harder to see
anything good in people
start over with bees
i walk on my hands now
i used to walk on my feet
like everyone else
but i got tired of
my shadow always
dogging my heels
i jumped a lot
but that was exhausting
and i always had to come
down
so
now i walk on my hands
the first time
i did it
i was able to lock hands
with my shadow
and wrestle him off the ground
empty where his eyes were
smooth where his ears should be
vacant where his mouth might have opened
yet it laughed
this human-sized oil spill
knowing that my only choices were
to pull it to myself
so that would never be parted
or go back to letting it follow me
i walk on my hands now
on my shadow, hand-in-hand
a compromise
hop, dark-eyed junco
you search for an easy meal
graduation day
Hey, I have a new poem up on SlasherMonster. It answers the age-old question about what to do with a broken heart.
You can check it out here (and it’s the only place you can see this poem right now, so head on over there. It’s scream.
Also be sure to check out Rose’s companion piece and her excellent reading (also available on this month’s Open Mic.
we are all
musical instruments
flutes made of bone
femur and tibia
radius and ulna
so many ribs
bleached and hollowed
drilled with precision
so that the wind
passes over us
and plays us
a dry harmony
we wait for rain
to reflesh us
and take up
our own voices
once again
paranoia sits in my chest
a fist clenched around my heart
so quick it must be a snake
envenomed and eager to strike
every thought a judgment
every word a pointed finger
it’s so boring
to try to not be that way
so exhausting that i
let my gorge rise
open my mouth
and let the snake out
shadow puppet of a serpent
a hand shaped like the devil’s head
fingers curled into a fist
but still spitting poison
from my bloody, beating heart
we reach the light at the same time
the woman and i
i glance at her
she’s young, fresh-faced
her hair pulled back
into a ponytail
–why doesn’t she look this way
even as i turn back to the light
still freshly red
as we approached
either one of us could have run it
made it through that stale yellow
but neither one of us did
i look at her again
i have time after all
the other traffic is just now
crossing
as a sculptor
i have to look at her face
like when i started writing fiction
and dissecting screenplays
how i ruined movies for everyone
including myself
–that’s the killer
–he’s going to die in the next act
–here comes the first big reversal
instead of just enjoying it
now i look for bones
collagen and muscle
planes, angles and shadows
–why doesn’t she look this way
and i turn back again
as traffic is slowing down
like popcorn in the microwave
just before it starts smoking
and stinking up the kitchen
just as well
she doesn’t look at me
a twitchy old bald man
who’s face is drawn up by
tortured nerves into a grimace
that could be mistaken for a leer
or is it a leer
my dad was a real womanizer
couldn’t pay attention to his kids or wives
because he was always wondering
where he was going to stick it next
thank god i mostly look like a gargoyle
half stone, half flesh and blood
so i never had to deal with that
–and why the fuck doesn’t she look this way
the light turns green
it’s just as well our eyes didn’t meet
don’t want any misunderstandings
one meeting of the eyes might be an accident
but what if we end up at this light again
tomorrow
is that a relationship
who needs an extra one of those
it’s obvious she’s looking at her phone
and i hate that shit
everything moves in a circle
what i have breathed in
i will breathe out
my spine pushes its way out
through the back of my neck
hot skin, dry eyes
no pain, just pressure
like when the doctor says
you may feel a little discomfort
everything moves in a circle
what i have breathed out
i must breathe in
heavy, dark wings
emerge from my back
black snake fireworks
intumescent ash and billowing smoke
rings of fire carving new bones
where my shoulder blades once were
these wings beat
throw dust into the air
create tornadoes of choking, blinding sand
but they cannot lift me
and my arms hang now useless and free
everything moves in a circle
what i will breathe in
i have already breathed out
Words and Feathers 