[x]

ForwordI have not become stronger
in the broken places.

Bones ache of age
of misuse
of disuse
and each cracking joint
is an audible reminder
of missteps
of misjudgments
of paths walked too long
and of steps
that should have been,
but were never taken.

Bent fingers jut
from palms of sandpaper,
calloused and crinkled,
they cannot grip
with that same eager desperation
of a child seeking comfort.

Black becomes gray
at the gates
of troubled temples and
dreams,
once saliently sweet,
decay on the tongue
like the sound
of necessary words produced,
but never employed.

I have not become stronger in the broken places

*Mirror Image*Old eyes searched a haunted image
With hands that shook he touched his face
Fearful he felt translucent skin
Like cling film wrapped on bone
Humbled he asked 'Who is this stranger'

Wait!
I know this man I am sure I do
Time receded a blur
Friends from the past smiled in the bevelled mirror
With hesitant hand he touched yesterday.

Remembering, women with ivory shoulders
Pearls shimmering on beige lace
Red lips that kissed with ancient guile
Images teased his weary mind
While he searched his mirror for a forgotten face
'Who is this stranger'

2013 Delice1941
1st January2012

full moonI wait like deserted bays
for your cascading murmurs,
a thrilling shiver down my exposed spine
as cold fingers trickle through;
efferent nerves on fire,
and the ground losing its very balance.

I wait,
lips underwater, drinking your thoughts,
pulling you in with the diamond cuts
of a lucky net,
kissing the trials from your neck,
giving you my heart, whole, raw
and forcefully beating.

I wait, with impatient eyes
to fall into yours;
fog lights in the smoke of my mind.
I wait in the midst of a battle field
to take you away.

Almost-Buoyant Credence Dear ocean child

born from the escape of drowning suns,

I have longed

for your halcyon-woven hair

and lucid, lyrical gaze

for the longest while

Let me trace resting eights, lemniscates

along each inch of your holy-grail spine

swimming toward the sea snakes

embedded in your sacrum

Harbinger of kismet,

actin' a foolthe magpie dances;
summoning persephone,
bothering his wife.

Sultry GenesisScintillating galaxies burst to life
from the slow whirl
of her jagged ivory hips.

I spiral into the vast blackness,
the inky atmosphere
spilling from the gossamer tips
of her swirling, mahogany ringlets.

Untethered, I drift,
bereft of graceful starlight
by which to navigate home.
Inevitably, I succumb
to the gravity of her undeniable attraction.

Glimmering eyes awaken,
shed the silken sheets of ashen lids
and illuminate her universe;
an amber sunrise gilding her white plains.

A weary pilgrim
constructing new constellations
from the starfield of her ribcage,
I ravenously hunger to taste sublime glory
writhing beneath the u

Autumn AutopsyAs lovers,
we were reckless;
Children
chasing fireflies
in a field of mines.
We traded kisses
and carefree caresses
for shrapnel
and blackened skin.
Short moments
stolen pawned
at the cost
of darker afternoons,
the twilight
of the dying season;
We didn't ask,
we never questioned
the interest
of our expenditures.
I shed my skin
in the Autumn of youth,
peeled back
the viscera and
bared the bone --
Rising up,
a scarecrow of worms
and raw meat,
amongst the stalks
of reddened corn.
Tonight
she clings
to dusty artifacts,
shelved trinkets
and
wrinkled sheets
laden with memories
of decaying potency;
The wisps
rising from the cooling wick
will never be
as sweet as
when the flame
burned brightest.

even the starsworms they said,
worm like wood they said
in the underbelly of her bonds,
in the something we termed domestic
we termed it pet and we termed it love
we termed it a virtue, anything a virtue.
we terminated her ill our relation ships
the vessels that will carry these mites they
breast stroke like the Monarchs,
and hang-glide the dolphins arch,
the dog just will not make it they said
and every bitch has its day
so make love they said
with the sweat of the sun,
with the pillows of the pavement.
somehow we will make it
so they said.

so I said I love you in panic,
I love you under a busted fire hydrants shower.
remember? &

EnnuiHere's where things got hazy:
you talked about pulling the stars closer
because the bigger they got, the less insignificant you felt.
I presumed it was because I called you mine.
Bottle caps and paper punchers
were the things we made love on when you decided
to live life more dangerously.

Indentions were made on my skin and not by
your touch, but by distractions - carefully planted, unlike
the way you used to kiss me. Your lips
lost instinct, but still tasted as they always had; soft
and pure, in the way no one else before me understood.
Maybe simplicity pulled you from me.

Or maybe you felt like I was too easy,
too predictable, and my end

the cure for everything is saltwaterand my voice is choked with pebbles
and my veins are thick with ink
so i'll bleed out all my lovesongs
wash them down the kitchen sink
and i'll tell you that i'm leaving
and i'll flee this soulless town
for the silent sea is calling
and i'm not afraid to drown
and i'll search out quiet islands
let the blank horizons be
drench my soul in every ocean
sink my heart in every sea.

Rock BottomThey say a rolling stone gathers no moss,
so when I shudder to a halt
The rocks in my feet continue to grind.
I feel the sand in my lungs
and the regretful mist silting in my heart
as the waves come back in
reaching eagerly for my legs, spooling, churning
over me. Rooted in my misery.
I know the rocks in my feet will help me drown.

He Found Me Before I Knew1

suddenly rain -
our reflection in the windshield
becomes a deluge

2

texting each other a renga -
tires hiss
on rain-soaked streets

3

home from work
he finds me on the bed
in a pile of warm laundry

4

between desires -
the children we were
in another life

5

finishing the fence
he smells of wood chips
from my dad's workshop

6

showering,
I connect constellations
of freckles on his shoulders

7

gray morning -
I open a melon
its green perfume

8

at the dining table
writing this haiku
the fridge faintly hums

Finish LinesI wonder where the
finish line is when you're a
long distance runner,
and how you know when you get there.

I wonder where long
distance runners are going
and if they're lonely on the way,
knowing they're leagues ahead of everyone,
alone.

ScornHer restless heart cries, Love! I am here to be found,
Everywhere - here - following voices of all in Greece,
Yet from her mouth, there is no sound.

A fair nymph's merry voice once rung from sky to ground,
Until the cerulean-eyed Queen gave it cruel release –
Her restless heart cries, Love! I am here to be found.

And vainly she, swift of wind, silent of voice, follows round
Her beloved, who scorns her with lips of cerise –
Yet from her mouth there is no sound.

The wind carries her silent lament, for he himself is bound
To one who wears his scornful azure eyes and vain fleece;
Her restless heart cries, Love! I am

Blue Like Winter Skycrystal meth eyes, wild as the moon
empty as a newly dug grave
midnight blind walking
on the path of soon, child, soon

freedom whispers in her damaged ear
drowned out by too much rain
shaky stick legs walking
bruise small flowers along the way

the sound of buzzing flies is louder
than the sweet hum of somethingness
eyes blue like winter sky
searching for a place to rest

she never had a goddamned thing to give
but she'd give it all away
for something that's not nothing
for a time that's not today

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Submitted: December 27, 2012
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Emotive Dissonance

by `dreamsinstatic, Dec 27, 2012, 8:12:49 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

"I love you, I love you"
is stuttering in
the white death of my heart
where your name
once echoed;
An impossible possibility
in the tenderness
of a golden glow,
inverted and
now blackened
by globs of mentholated tar.

You sway
silent and steady,
a dark pendulum
to tantalise,
to hypnotize the logic
from my mind
in exchange
for the unreliable promises
of a heart
that ignores what is
in search
of what it wants to be.

Trust like a wooden bridge in an iron age
becomes obsolete,
like truth has been supplanted by faith.

Truth
asphyxiates on parted lips
dripping
with heady, amber manipulations.
Truth
is hidden
in the dark folds,
lost in the crinkled creases
of green bills
trapped in yellow envelopes.
Truth
dies in dark places,
the ebony saucers
at the core of your ever wilting eyes.

Dead,
like sudden onset Autumn
over the perfumed garden
of you
and your decaying promises,
I repent not
for the truth I spoke
nor for the lie
I created
and so disarmingly called
"love."