Left

Repetition,
Cycling,
Circling
Thoughts recurring
In my mind
In my mouth
Part my lips
Pull the plug
Draining whatever is
Left.

Count on one hand
Then the next
Everything that is
Left.

Looking from afar
To see things moving farther,
Muttering, “just go”
Mulling over
Why you haven’t just
Left.

Just check for
A co-creator in morbidity
Deceptive conceiver,
If I were you,
I wouldn’t be you
At all.
If I were here
By now I would have
Left.

 

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A Study: The Economics of Dying

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Vegetables don’t feed flowers
The way a body will.
A legacy of “I
Was here, too.”
Grown from decay,
Wilting again
A hand-picked bouquet.

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No New Gods

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The machinery of his heart, always at war with his mind-
He, who wrestled life away from scraps; those husks of peace left in compost buckets.
Off-brand savior, who nails sleep to a cross,
Sacrificing restfulness for children who were no longer child-sized.
He, who loves animals because they live exactly as they have to
He, who mixes ink and poison, takes a drink
And writes his last will and testament, perfectly in meter on the back of a receipt.
Inevitably, death will reach out a hand and find
There is nothing to take.
A litany of collapsed idols have arrived,
Their ghosts parading through hallways and streets,
A march lead by fanatics and faint-hearted paranoids,
Full-grown kids,
In chemerical clothing,
Espousing that there are no new gods,
No new gods,
No new gods.
God isn’t dead,
He’s just napping.

Here is the church,
Here is the steeple
Open the doors
And here is a lion,
Here is its prey.
Here is a mirror,
That reflects like stained glass.
Here is the face of a man
Dreaming through an endless labyrinth
Of creatures and cultures he thought he could abide by.
Here are mountains that look
Strikingly like giant’s shoulders
Only when he stands at the bottom,
Looking up.

Books and planets,
Convulsing with creation,
He observes this, settles on rooftops
To drink wine that had gone sour decades ago.
We are the last men here, maybe.
Swimming in the night
Through fenced fluorescence
That smelled like freedom, once.

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She Tells Us Her Creation Story

A flush of abundance that trickles into vacancy,
Rushing my ideals back and forth in empty wheelbarrows-

This man here, chose the wealth of forbidden fruit
Chose this body (not mine)
Chose these limbs (and no others).

I baptize it as self-preservation,
Sanitizing what they call treason;
He chose missive,
I launch missiles into avoidance.
They rewrite history, giving memories a new name.

I do not recall my genesis,
The full moon birthed from my mouth,
A foaming, deadly, hissing pearl.
I live, a creation myth in reverse,
With the boy-god who sinks into his mother’s side
Unswells, stomaching the covenant of milk and honey.
Ask her bones to break into atoms,
To light up whatever we have left.

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To The Man At The Bar

From across the bar you grin
Gin on my mouth, I smile,
For a while we exhaust
A lost idea of completeness;
Less talking, please
Seize the emptiness
Of fading youth,
Ruthlessly melting
From our lips.
Slip into something less comfortable
Than the lie you wore out
Before it’s time;
I’d wear mine
If you’d ever notice the difference.

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To Both of Them

A rock within his ribs, but here’s a grin
To soothe me for now.
Here’s freedom, in the shape of smoke and whiskey
Here’s fighting a war he never meant to win,
So let’s begin our slow descent into something else.

Peace can be as savage as a battleground,
Both generals saw the best of themselves die
In the cross fires of contentment.

Here’s my cherry heart,
You tied its stem in a knot,
Then spit it out.
Leaving me pitted.
At the core of me is
The softer part of me, which
Loves the hardest of everything.

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The Day He Told Us

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A lifetime is easy,
Just scenes arranged
To make sense of
What we feel; As we
Experience things that
Will never happen,
Sadness is not something
We are able to
Hang on to.

The day he told us
He wasn’t going to make it.
The day he died.
Every day afterwards
I still couldn’t get it together.

Always hoping for
The adoration of the past;
Forever waiting for a future
That tastes differently.

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Disrobed

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This morning,
I read my coffee,
Drank the paper.
Dawns are better messy,
And nights are better off confused.
I want to
Keep things that way.

People stronger than me
Have needed a chiropractor,
To readjust their back
After sleeping the way I do.
I’m not a gamble, dear
You can count on me
To disappear
But I’ll wait until the morning
So it feels like
I almost stayed.

You spend a short night here,
While your button-down
Flung over the door stays
For a few days.
A relic of 2 AM disrobing,
It hangs like a ghost of lovers past,
It, and I, weary of moving against
The shape of a man
For a lifetime.

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Though We Say Hallelujah

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I step into the coffee shop
Aligning myself in the
Neat, orderly row. It is
Our human branding
Because, God surely
Loves parallel lines.
We don’t know this,
Though we say, hallelujah.
A baby cries behind me
A sign, a siren, a warning
We have been ordained his wrath.

Hot coffee, burning my tongue
I walk away, next to streets
Car’s horns sing like trumpets,
Yellow dashes keeping
Machines and their baggage
On the straight and narrow.

A distant train wails in C Minor,
I kneel along the tracks,
Praying for hand grenades and flint locks.
I think of Thanksgiving,
Plates passed, first the turkey,
The mashed potatoes, the candied yams.

If only we had taken turns
Lighting it all on fire.
For whoever fed the poor,
The hungry?
They did it for you.

I claw at the ground
Putting handfuls in my mouth.
I will eat the dirt,
Before the dirt eats me.
Ashes to ashes,
We all come
Tumbling down.

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White Orchids, Black Marble

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In a crystal ball,
I see us arguing in a minimalist kitchen
White orchids on black marble,
Us, storms of words
Chosen not carefully enough.

I see us dancing downtown
Past patio seating and terraces
Reflections flickering in cars driving by
We clash, clumsy in the grasps and twirls
Laughing like drains, smelling like wine.

I see us selecting our new couch
You, wearing your “serious face”
Me looking for the ugliest seat for sale
We debate prices and delivery times,
Confused about what our aesthetic, together, is.

I see you on the stairs alone,
An angel tired of stepping down from heaven.
Hand on the banister, I say your name,
Say something meaningful
You smile, and repeat it.
Crystal ball future,
I take in my hands like a snow globe
Furiously shaking away fate
Causing one last blizzard
Before the calm.

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