dust dancing on small turbulences in the evening sun i pity you
or us, or the ***** *** *******(?), but thats crude, instead
the preceding two years a blur and a wound.
spinning vision, blunt strikes to the head! why now? im sorry! why this far in? im sorry! i feel amongst strangers
my skull upends itself, my heart regurgitates, the foundational slips
sorrowful empathy saturate my memory, it shreds at my throat and the blood sputters out the most horrible words i can form
i wish i could have fixed it before my shins cracked. now its broken.
my shirts are tore and smothered in harsh smelling chemicals, cellulose fibers, carcinogens
that pair of jeans you picked out for me—yes, the ones i wore every day—are filled with holes, the seams are ripped
my favorite songs sing about you in detail
phone in hand, contacts saved inside, i turn it over and over
truth process shattered, scrambling through shards i cut my hands on their edges and sob, i utterly weep at the silhouette formed by their haphazard drop
Sat in musty room, dark grey light and humming machines held close
plastic fake feather blankets, too soft to the touch
Breath shallow, anticipating the ear splittingly loud vacuum of sound settling, my bones drag my muscle down.
it pulls, it burns.
The mild heat and high humidity is sickening. It churns my stomach, gagging myself on irregular heart rhythms
The window slowly wafts in gentle breeze: the scent of rain or flowers or dead leaves or concrete, the distant contact of rubber on stone, lime, and asphalt
It makes one hunger, it makes one cling (scream, walk, mortified, runnning), but the doors stay shut against aching arms and fidgeting hands turning over locks and keys and smooth brass latches
And, if only for a moment the shadow passes. Was it a trick of the eyes? A lapse in better judgement? Rejoice girl, for their worn fabrics and shattered screens might bring peace to an aching soul, if but only the promises made maintain impossibly through violent collision
Head ache and blood on tongue, the confusion after concussive trauma, the frequently misplaced pen to paper
Finally it rains, its finally wet, and cold. shes coughing.
Startled to standing, through sickness, the door swings open on its hinges, slamming against the cheaply hewn wall,
Eerie eerie silence on the first sun of winter!
Crackling stones and shifting ice shear and whine at the exposure of heat at long last
Mold ridden wood screams and buckles at the sight!
Man herself gazing upon the crumbling display
How it must feel to live without regret!
How it must feel for skin to live unsinged!
Oh the utterance of its ambitious folly, exhilaration, eyes beholden of its own industrious labor come ripe
Do not fear little watching one, little building one, all things crumble
Love for the ruins and reprimand for its architecture, construction unending
i wish for days when grey greens and blue hues suddenly break
flooded with air, ladden in spores
its crisp and floral drink, rejuvinated with ritual stimulants
freedom of movement under the reconstruction
dodge under i beams and climb through whats crumbling
one day ill hold us both in tandem once again
we can laugh and ill dip you in my arms
i can wipe your tears and this time theyll stay dry
snow piled high on our backs, fabric dripped with metal, now melts
the runoff is as glorious as you dreamed it would be
this time, no this return, ill make the most of
quiet girl, with the loud voice
you stun me when you speak, run ahead through the parking lot
talk to me for hours
tall girl, with the dancing hair
your eyes so easy to read, your sweater sweeps about you
jump up on the curb with me
charismatic girl, your emotions are gripped
so practiced yet impulsive
smiles and tears behind curls they break me
peer at me, lovingly, you surprise me constantly
you wax poetry in your asides
move youthfully in your strides
your stalwart upstandedness
your studious insightfulness
im awestruck
to let me hold you when knees buckle, when vision becomes blurred
its an honor, even a god granted blessing
your weight when upon on me, envigorates and brings me to weep
how could anyone be anything but taken,
with you, oh lover girl, how could i say it all at once
i am reminded of your fragility every time i look down on my hands, the subtle tremors and firm grasp of your fingers
i climb past the lichen that creeps up the concrete stairs leading to the woodside path
light cast down upon it and reflects off tiny beads of water held up on thin spindles of fruiting plant and fungus
i am reminded of you when i sit to rest on my hike up, the jokes you told while we climbed down the dam side water level monitoring tower
the smoothed metal rungs of the ladder and its rusting supports, hanging it dozens of feet over the cliff edge drop
how my stomach churns just thinking of the height, the danger in putting our trust in its construction but the excitement of the hidden alcove below
finding myself walking these lush paths again i feel like a child, but without the vibrancy. guilt slams into my throat
how many years since i was here? how many years has it been since we spoke? i fear for your health
the wide path lazily slopes and winds toward the peak, giving break between dense cruciferous trees down stark cliffs onto rocky rivers edge
i can see us down there skipping rocks, you showing me how you can crumble sandstone in your hand, singing gentle loving songs punctuated by laughs as i slipped and scrambled up steep embankments held together by mazing tree roots
i forgot how fragile you are, then remembered, then forgot again, laughing old man
the most sickening stuff flows out from your hands and mouth
the fumes off your fingertips scald us all
idols in gods dead before birth
stony eyed wide awake screaming in your ruins
there is no sympathy for you
from your tools, only blood sprays
from your tongue, only the husks can revel
may you be buried deep and your bones never found
may you burn away to beyond what can be imagined in all this coming heat
fortifications on mountain top you find me
i wish to spin in your majesty!
i wish to be free of shackles of the hermetic!
fearful of swinging my limbs to hit the door,
for i may find my body is made of straw and cork
scream down to valley when sun hits the rooftop!
you must be heard! for to have a role is to make one!
none know the tragedy of lack of subject better than that of my ilk
wallow no longer sisters!
study takes us to the handle
union rushes in fresh air
action forges the subject, to tear apart the fortress on mountain high
i against well wishes and best intentions hard wire resetting if not only unavailable for turning over my water bottle in hands quiet in the evening ever remember the place or person perhaps and grieve again rereading our by the boy in the room dark glowing purple upon the screen upon the floor imagining it were with you handholding and sitting in your car's favorite novel but this the bed or backseat injured my cut hands found you back again upon addresses we would even or especially on the wet days of the october frequently before our last warming of winter hails she hanging my jacket above the tub as it drips more my upturned stomach without you.