I have nothing left to say. What does a dry well do in dead heat? Reverberates the sound, I suppose – Of what clawing animal, I do not know.
What does a dry well do in dead heat? Gathers the stifle, hoards the wet memory Of what clawing animal, I do not know. The air pressed at the stone rim pleads for a song.
Gathers the stifle, hoards the wet memory Reverberates the sound, I suppose – The air pressed at the stone rim pleads for a song. I have nothing left to say.
My first full-length poetry collection, Something Like Bones, is finally complete and available for sale. This work is very dear to me and I am so excited to share it. Click the link below to purchase:
The sky is absent of ____ until the fog burns off around midday – a deeper ____ invited to each clear night nestled with stars
My walls are stained with it (bathroom ____ bleeds to kitchen ____) I’m cloaked in soft ____
Dry my hands on ____, wear it thin on my chest and thighs (____ can chafe in the name of appearances – I peel it off and slip into a cozier ____ at day’s end)
____ never leaves my eyes even when flecked with sunlight at a fierce angle, even when clouded over, a disappointment seeping out from somewhere
I leak ____. I smell of it.
____ in the ring he gave me ____ in the ring I still wear ____ ringing in my ears, lingering on my lips, an anthem echoing a deep cut
____ when alone In a wrong crowd: more ____ still In his company: Is there a word beyond ____?
I’m here because, in short, I lost. Or rather, my head is here and my body…well…
Can you see I’ve done my makeup? Polished my spike? I’ve worked hard. I knew you were coming.
I can’t remember what did it, what moment led to my reign over this soupy post of quiet rot, head here and body…well… War can be funny like that.
I bet you’ve forgotten all about it, but for different reasons. I hear you’ve got land now, cattle. That’s nice.
Had someone asked, I’d have preferred to’ve gone eyeless. Gouged out. Mashed to pulps. Fed to a goat. It would’ve spared me seeing your hair glint, your eyes shimmer, your arms pump and flex as you clop up the road. It feels wrong. I can’t cry for your perfection. I’m dead.
I suppose the upside to it all is my purpose: I’ve finally found one. I was pretty useless while I could still roil and ache and beat my chest. Breathe. Need. I am now very helpful: I’m a warning.
See my head as you ride into town? Aren’t I pretty? Aren’t you mortified?
The days this lifts we’ll flood the streets. Will you get naked, relish the air, lick the filth of Manhattan Ave? What a relief it will be, what a relief.
The day this lifts I’ll throw clothes in a bag – unthinking, blaze down 95 – unblinking, bang down the red diamond door and oh What a reunion it will be, what a reunion.
The day this lifts we’ll shake the proverbial champagne and spray. Will you take a sip for the occasion, get drunk on talk and warm bodies, fall asleep touching elbows? What a night we will have, what a night.
The day this lifts I’ll let him go. Or maybe I won’t. Either way, my heart will keep up the thaw and eventually What a Spring it will be, what a Spring.
The day this lifts will we be any different? Will you still seek deep comfort? Will I still conceal a dark heart? Will our minds be wiped clean like grime from windows in rain? What a test it will be. What a test it will have been. What a test.
“With anger spreading in the chest To guard against a vainly barking tongue “
– Sappho
With anger spreading in the chest To guard against a vainly barking tongue I tried, My Love, I did my best To croon the words of light that must be sung
They fell upon your deafened ears Which set a rage to sweep my heart with fire Hysteria is born from fears That tangle in the roots of all desire
We tumbled down an awful well And cracked the very spirit of our bond There’s no way out but through this hell And through it we did go, for far too long
In the end, not much was left We parted all our properties, our lips I stood upon the shards, bereft In disbelief how it had come to this
It took my all, My Love, to bluff: To keep my person light, the dark at bay I’m sorry it was not enough I’m sorry that I don’t have more to say