I found I had no need to breath, arising
against my casket’s deed,
eating dirt as I pull free,
needing just you as the air touched me.
Two thousand nights I’ve been awake,
shambling decay, looking for the tears
you poured at my grave.
Did I bleed you dry over pieces
of me that needed to change?
I hear I don’t want you, but in bed,
I’m so addicted to your taste, I bite.
You say I don’t love you,
But I stood in front of the door and begged,
“be as mean as you want, just stay.”
Over two thousand nights
of foreign faces,
You have the only eyes
I recognize to this day.
I was revived, a zombie;
linger until you want to dispense me
or the skin falls in long thick strands
from my plagued hands.
With one wish,
you inspired the whole
of the ocean
to form walls so colossus.
What wicked waves rise like this?
with one wail,
you demanded the rains
on the ocean
to bite like ravenous fish.
What wicked rains rage like this?
with one word
you sunk me, mariner
made from ocean,
to depths I’ll never reveal.
What wicked waters war like this?
She’s high up
spinning the air,
Her fury bared
in flashing light
blue and bright.
Your walls groan.
turn face; running
in new directions.
She’s high in
dark day’s sky;
see her move
the circling clouds.
That rush which
–words for winds
shape cast down;
this witch will
be your end.
She’s high in
the clouds falling
– you too, incapable
of resisting. Held
by her design
Help me explain to the sirens in the distance
that simply my headlights did not see him.
When I was on the road that you were walking through,
somehow in the night, my headlights didn’t catch you;
only one shoe, so high it flew.
On your chest I kept pressing, working toward a blessing,
but I couldn’t keep your breath up; I lost your attention.
You left my dimension.
Deep red, the wound on his head bleed un-paused.
To St. Jude, he gave up his pain as a lost cause.
Consumed by the shock of his body being car-tossed;
and confused, may the sirens give clarity to chaos.
And I was begging you keep breathing
though, your heart had stopped its beating;
Blood as dark as the pavement it was teasing.
My headlights and I did see him
die on the road of our intentions.
illustration by Frank Stockton
No matter how many times that you wandered
far on the breeze; no matter how high you flew,
you couldn’t get past the trees.
No matter how many times that you flew far away
from fall of the giant rain; there was nowhere to go,
on your own, wearing your pain.
No matter how many die, sacrificed on the line,
they will never regret.
No matter how you lie,
you will still get caught forever in their long nets;
disturbing a fire inside of this hive,
it’s a riot near bursting to swarms.
All of our known foes, the big and the cunningly bold,
want more from us than just our long toiled over gold.
Still we have to die to prove our life.
Soon we’ll have to kill to save our lives.
Dying swarms still sting and rage wars till last sunlights
with all of these little bees crashing like bombers to ground.
We used to dance
under painted ceilings
–like night skies,
of your star rising.
Now I sit alone
watching the faded
paint chips fall, waiting
to hear a groan
–another old pipe
the moan of
ancient inlays rotting under
proof your presence is
pacing the halls
–looking for the lost
vestiges of yourself.
When all have hidden in
the walls, collecting dust
or dead spiders; speaking
husk of how powerful
we lived. You burned
By your light I built
temples for all your worth.
At altars I could hear
my name; haunted sounds
honeyed into Mulsum
wine, not tasted in eons since.
Still, I make my sacrifice and
Though I can tell the dawn has just triumphed into bright, I see no potential for today;
caught between peeking blinds and sheets for curtains, the light has nowhere to go.
My feet will not reach the floor today; the deepest part of the ocean is in my room.
The more I sink, the less I try to fight the current that’s cradling me into my tomb.
When I start thinking about the picture of my life, or the pieces struggling to come to,
I’m paralyzed by a bolder weight that’s way too heavy for my slender frame to move.
My body will not reach the door today; seems like I hit the wall five miles too soon.
The more I push, the more distance I find between myself and any sort of resume.