Poetri

how does black feel

white?

her eyes half open, wanting

waiting for an excuse, an opportunity

to say

yes

without words

open mouthed

breathing in

afraid with anticipated joy

one kiss curls fingers

shoots them straight with electricity

as

breathless

she imbibes

deeply

head swirling

flames marching between her thighs

ground shaking

heart thumping

dreams spilling

out into the open

eyes terrified

desperate to cling to

this terrible satisfaction

this fire water

quenching her

thirst

The weather outside, a cold plastic bag
Suffocating, biting with the sand of broken glass
Needling the thin skin of my insulating barricade
Against the drill of a persistent shower of mind numbing pain

Angry, frigid bones are my ghost story
Blanket layer after layer disappears into nothing
Random sounds of settling mark each second, each hour
As death sits in the corner like a piece of decor

Silence is a wound bled out, still life
Furrowed brow the lock that keeps what’s left in reserve
I hold my breath on the chance I may need to speak at the end
Though there is no one who would hear me, no one, anywhere

Time an open window in the house of the dead
I’m a violent rock sitting in the middle of the room
People whisper and ignore me but none dare pick me up
Lest they cut themselves and prove my pain, the stain of their guilt

Love is a penny driven into the street
An ornamental value, lost and left, never spent
Pitied in its purpose unfulfilled, it’s a sign
That love is often wasted when it’s cheaply defined

Gluttony’s heartburn has my soul tied in knots
Dying, trying to fill the emptiness eating rocks
Tomorrow’s hope is heaven but tonight is my hell
And I dream to find some refuge from this madness I feel

My body decomposes as my life crowds my mind
And one day the sun will rise and won’t see me anymore
And one day there won’t be a rock in the midst of the floor
And one day my whole life story will blow on out through the door

how do we get from here to there
if we are making the best of where we are
learning to enjoy the status quo
unable to pass on the fire of the dream within us
to our children who see us
and wonder with innocent eyes
if they will one day be like us…

how do we murder this contentment
and send our children fleeing from this hunting comfort
they have learned to be at ease with
have learned to call home

we will be mad men, butchers of peace
chaos bringers and drama kings
who cannot settle
for whom nothing is good enough
frightening our children into their old age
only at the last will the blossom of understanding bud

but will it be too late
and what of their branches
will they bear fruit

am I doomed to quiet myself in a world
that demands I be a killer or a slave
swallow my hatred or surrender my love

how will I know myself again?

thoughts quietly exhaled
are hunted for their subtleties
by masquerading eyes
and sober heart

while tendrils of embryotic dreams
brush against my sensitivities
without conscience
naive and unaware

but let me rise to the warmth of your breath
intrude upon your smile and
slip beneath your comfort
surprising you with a heartbeat

and you will see me
feel the root tugged at
and tempted, resist, alive
flared open

long enough for my seed to infiltrate that
semi-conscious state
where butterflies are born

like thoughts of love and
possibilities
fondled by curiosity
just before sleep

Never a baby adored
but some unwanted child
abandoned to its self
writhing in the turmoil of emotions
screaming raw their pleading
to a world disinterested and unkind
until its scarred throat hardened
and crying became barking
piercing the sleep of men
who would kill it to silence it
and death met them
arrogant for attention
and gave back their perverted affection
as an artificial son
burning them all.

Fuck. Spoken right upon her lips
Soft smooth betrayal, sticky like honey
Guilty fingers trembling with want
Road kill

Meat turned out and stinking
Mouth full of chewing
Hungry to be full
A shameless madness, drenched in blood

Stillness comes breathless and
Moonshined
Head spinning with guts spilled on the sheets
Tied between legs and thighs and
Sweating eyes

Breathing heart, quiet beneath sobering silence
Eyes wide open in the darkness
Death shushing us

Winter way home, tired
Sidewalk breath prays
Candle’s fire, wine, and skin

Yellow bedroom lights
Tiger moth eyes
Empty walls
Barefeet, wooden floor
And a stanky bluesy music haunting
Hunting that lonely place within me
With a terrible lie of what might taste like possible

Got me wringing my hat in my hand
Begging for a silhouette at the curtain’
To tell me now’s a good time
To believe

To will reality into opening the door
Find my place in her space
on the couch
pretending hard enough
To make myself at home

Nothing worse than the jitters to spoil
A warm smile
A wanting hand
A flicked switch
And a complaining mattress