December Storms

"Just get home safely..."
she had pleaded
and he had promised

but soon his feet
had grown to heavy
to trudge the snow

and leaving behind him
stains of his life on the ice
red on white (draining slowly)

still savoring
the whiskey that had wet his lips
his frail fingers buried in his pockets

but it was not of his own life
for which he still struggled
but of theirs, a future

still barely knowing
of which that dark alley had held
and how he had fought (still with hopes he had not yet lost)

"Just come home to me..."
I heard her whisper at the window
and I still sat, waiting for his call

it's hard
not to still blame myself
after having departed for home too early (with one drink too many)

and he, still smiling
ignorant of the winter storms
and the shadows that crept among them

and people still claim
to having heard his cries
after having departed for home too late (down one dark alley too many)

they say they found his body frozen
still with a brave face
his bright eyes never doused

and still, a year later
in the dark of December
it's hard not to blame myself

"but you are now a prince among the stars
on which you so longingly gazed"
I whispered
(pouring whiskey on his grave)

and yet, she, still in disbelief for her love, still pleads
"just get home safely...
just come home to me."

coma dreams

and soon
sunburnt flesh will bleed and sweat the black
of a bloodred summer
and soon
the sun too will cross its legs
and succumb to the sins of a much-needed night

(or what was left of this picture perfect ending)

the lies I choked through broken teeth
as you screamed and tore at the empty hospital bed sheets

"I will lay, til the stars dance"
we'll live out this night with half a chance

He stepped from the ledge and whispered "Another soul saved."
"Another one stolen." we whispered laying flowers on his grave.

the passion grew from ashes
as the saltwater spray passes over us

hand in hand, we danced in the dark

driftwood skeletons embedded in the sand
tortured screams at the day's end

"Dance, child. Dance as you burn."

"Mother?" the child asks
"How long have my eyes been sewn shut?"
when was my memory first suffocated
in the wasted breath of an ashtray?
I was concieved to thrive under bright lights
was I betrayed or relieved
by the awakening of my thoughts?
what have I accomplished by my lies
but this seemingly endless spiral of self-destruction
I was overwhelmed by the power of these waves
and they left me shaking in the wake
"Behold, this is yours
this sunrise of lies
and you may conquer it as you wish.
the time has come to remove
the sewn thread from your eyes,
and give you with it one last kiss."

4am

staggering fistfights with silver streetlights
rainwater drenches the pavement
monday night in sunday's best
bottles raised, drained, broken
boxing ghosts on streetcorners
listening to the whispers within the bricks of a building
the muffled lives and abandoned warehouse cries
a glimpse of the future within a stormdrain
clip my wings
in this broken city
i shall fly
no more

a yearn to leave home

the stalks sway
and the wind picks up
I look to the west
the dust sweeping open roads
its what we thirst
counting the thorns of a rose
yearning for that midnight sky
cleansed in the cold dawn
singing into the smoke
all left
was a face and its beauty
cling to me
shield me from the open road wind
and guide me
into an embrace
(safe)
drawing traces in the sand
I've tasted the rain
(here and there)
it tastes the same
it tastes the same

the epiphany

the tongues taste
the doves swarm
the child waits
for his mother to return
the air is stale
the ground warm
and sight fails
spirits born
and I wonder if anyone knows whats happened.

moments

Well we were young
and those fields, so inviting
so we ran
bare feet, with only the devil to catch us
after long draws
from the fountain of youth
whispers of songs
screamed beneath white studded stars
til the dancing brought us to our rest
a heaving chest
enveloped in night
we laid naked
recieving visions from the stars
we aren't expected home
so we can sleep (safe)
until the cold breeze sweeps
the morning dawn over the horizon
and the wind blows the de-laced grass
grazing softly against our eyelids
brushing us awake
arising hand in hand
the cool trace of silk skin
though we are plagued with morning
there are only beginnings

there will always be our nights
they will always be our nights

a wine-dark wood

In my dream
the air that escaped your lips
turn to shadow, spilling on the ground
I saw crooked black trees and gray streams
crawling ivy lined dirt paths
and the heads of snakes blossomed from the earth
I stripped myself of my clothes
and bathed in frigid waters
the moons reflection crept across the ripples
there were no screams
only whispers you could hear
with your ear to the soil
and only illusions of something moving (among the bushes)
alluring me to a final rest.
though the air seemed clean
the gnarled roots offered no soft sleep
so I laid in the sinking moss
covering myself in burnt leaves
I sang a soft song to the ravens above me
until they wept and tore at the bark of the trees
and I sank beneath the earth

all I remembered
was the splitting screams
(songs of the angels)
as they closed my eyes to sleep

attic eulogies

the setting sun cast a stream of sloth
through the open window
as the rocking chair creaks against the failing floorboards
here, the smells that rise through the air
leave us tasting, only wanting more
(but you can still hear her now)
softly singing, a fluid sweeping
her notes rise like warm dreams
through the cracks in the attic floor

the windows remain stained
the stale hopes of whispers past
writings on the walls
the ghosts of words on a page
this story, the endings twist slowly
alone, this act, portrayed on a stage
whispers, and the ghosts of words on a page

an old widow, waiting at the upstairs window
for her sailor lost at sea
but he found, beneath the waves
the importance of the silence
that accompanies a saltwater coffin

the wind that sifts through broken panes
whispers, the semblance of a story
it occured to me softly
the setting sun a sigh of relief
the silent agony of ashes on the breeze
the spiderwebs clothing room corners
whispers
alone, this act, portrayed in the attic

broken but still growing

the bravery seemed contagious
as we stood atop the tombstones
and screamed at the stars

we sacrificed all we could
but we could barely run
with our boots flooded with whiskey

I heard the screams
and the breaking of bottles
along the bloodred horizon

all the flags were but burning silhouettes
as a child, I could smell the smoke
from the dinner table

I was envious of the darkness
it had nothing to hide, yet hid everything
so I crawled through the marsh
following silver streams in the air
running through streets
and then falling to my knees
beating the pavement with my fists
ripping, tearing skin
is this how we were meant to live?

saved

I heard the mothers' cries from up the block
child and poison laced sidewalk chalk
the metal taste of a mouth on a gutter
the cold whisper of a deathbed shudder
I screamed and beat against a locked door
a shipwrecked crew washed up on the shore
a distant echo and the smell of burnt flesh
the disease only our children will catch
the broken promises I could never mend
the way your red hair blew in the wind
the hands we held as we danced in the dark
the flowing words of a decaying art
the end to means we were blind to see
a frozen bathub and a skeleton key
a cold curse on the winter wind
he pulls the trigger as he confesses his sins

a killing in the key of d

Her head now hangs as if from a noose
born with a heart barely big enough
to hate, and to love, and which lie to choose

and now I stand
with my head in my hands
after a month's worth of pressing her bruises

now as the seasons turn
I silently watch as her letters burn
inhaling the smoke of what was once pure

nine months was all it took
a sweet smile to hide the lies I choked
a soft plea in this eulogy I wrote

all I've done is try to act like I don't care
a defense mechanism, and a vacant stare
digging a six foot hole to I don't know where

believe me, my love was true
I would change myself if I could
yes, I would change if I thought it'd do any good

and now I drink myself to sleep in sunken sheets
but recieve no rest
letting the paint of this watercolor world run red

the apparition

In the attic, I would wait
for my angel to appear
as night fell in day's wake
so dark, and so dear

Soon smiles arose to my lips
in the act of amber liquors, draining
the warmth of a poison whiskey kiss
for my angel, I still sat waiting

Before long she appeared to me
I spoke, "I am your poet, muse, held in your trance.
trapped in your gaze, and longing to see
I am yours to save, wash away my sins."

and I wrote of her beauty on the attic floor
until the ink in my pen ran dry
then I wrote with blood drawn from the purest veins
until I could bleed no more

"Words, words." the angel replied,
"all this love you have, boy,
it will burn you from the inside,
your passion will not create, but destroy."

"Stay with me, angel!" I began to plead,
"stay and you shall neither want nor need."
But from the attic window, I could see
that the sky had begun to bleed.

and then the angel was gone