you stopped
taking
calls,
i learned how
to sing,
but no one hears
a thing
with red eclipsing
eyes
from flames
nobody
sees.
abstract
open to what’s
next,
loving like a
child,
life’s not as you
warned,
i recall feelings..
not facts that drag
me back
into questioning
intentions.
fractured from the
pressure,
i’ve wanted it
too much,
time with you
was the good dream,
you knew just when
to leave
but taught me to
stop running.
planted and
pushing..
strained against
a wall,
poking through
brick,
the
hair caught
between two teeth
pluck it from the source
of its seed,
much like any
weed.
a photo-
torn and taped back
together
in valiant attempt to
mend a memory
that can’t simply be plucked
like a dead
petal
from the lilies you
clutched
while his camera
stripped
you.
the past claws
us back..
and
for what?
to circle each other
in this same
twisted
cage
baring
our weakness-
in fear of the
kindness..
that may end
our pain?
cool rains cascade from
a heavenly
mouth,
rinsing eyelids and leaves
with the promise
of peace,
in most solemn but
soothing
way,
the window pane
bleeds in
grey.
i kissed a hippie
visitor,
we drank our coffee
stronger..
together and spit
out myths
while tangling
pasts
to free the years
long spent
outcast.
while spilling
soul–
you convey
in such vibrant tones–
wish i lived in the world
you must
know,
feather hands swaying
through dialogue
as if brushing away
all gloom
to freshen the breath
of this sunlight
starved
room.
a broken pencil
lead–
the thought left to
ferment,
in rest from
sleep
i feel the
grey
thick in my bones
today.
hands in the garden 
You must be logged in to post a comment.