prescription
scribbled on my hand..
bland sunday
head buried in someone’s story,
asked for
the housekeys back,
drove to hear music move
like my body’s
steam,
night whistles through
the cracks we
dream.
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dress up any
horror,
softer side of blade
on ribbon-
drag it tighter
to match mood of room,
unfasten mask
to watch them gasp in fright
daughters drape the stairs,
all eyes after
midnight.
blue breath in playground
older dogs off leash,
ice rinks in backyards
kid neighbor’s father screams,
night stars frosted to my glasses
woodsmoke whispers
winter’s name
like crystal.
teased and tickled in
snowfall blinds..
drawn to chin
to guard embers within
from
shadow storm
gorged on trees whole
snow angels play shy
in plain sight.
branch like a maze
of veins-
umbrella’s me
on storm-lit street,
never lived
for fear of who I’d meet,
a cracked glass candle
dripping dust,
your sleight of hand’s
got me drunk
on letter better left
muzzled in
drawer-
your bite marks
no more.
may i be
consoled to see
the heart
in each burnt star?
to know that you’re
not dust-
I slip away,
now
face to face
with waves that claim
the spark from every
raindrop
tries
to
soften
gravel eyes-
we drag the shore
in search of
calm,
sand writhing
half alive.
thought a word and watched it dissolve
until freed from memory,
held too long for change to
find me, stiff and chilled on back porch gazing,
taken with strange forms and shapes
consumed by snarl of
shadow snakes
in garden left
to molder..
midst our absence felt
within these
walls.
swoll pupils
bob
like tealights on
pound of
clouds,
grey lightning
lips
submerged
in all words turn flood
heart sculpted of wax
and blood
pools like sand in
veins dried
shut.
intimately,
bodies harmonize
with summer mist
spattered on fogged glass
in crystal streaks
pearl beads
weep
from swollen folds
upon sheets dirtied rose
glows each
breath,
stretched cotton thread
swabs skin
raw
of sin made
song-
in reckless waves,
here and
gone.
out flat, head unscrewed,
refusing
to cinch gaps
between time’s
straps,
should i swell
whole
enough to feel
held-
blameless and
unlearned,
would shelf sag
where books are meatiest?
-undigestible,
inkwell churns,
page by
dead skin page-
i skim along but words
are not the
test
must be burned.
hands in the garden 
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