Collage
Your body is glued together
like a collage of moments,
layers that sting and lie
but remain. Every new piece
covers but does not alter
what is underneath.
Lessons taught with torn paper
that were meant to be rigid and straight;
you wish for a new sheet.
The ripped edges speaking
your life.
Wind On The Wounded Road
I step on the shards of steel
debris shadowing the scene
but I see clear;
Yellow eyes searching the courtyard
decayed and corroded
with broken pillars
rotted white like bones
piled without purpose
each telling their own story
of a past affair
maybe of loss
However there is no time
the tick of the hands persist
but nothing moves;
Lush grass stays steady
as the wind swirls
and the lone crow calls
beating through the mist with twisted arms
smacking my sides
to dull the pain
The sky is tainted
forever like shattered men
who will never breathe the same air;
Now the darkness comes
at last but too soon
and the lone crow calls
Drifting Together
In the dark we are viewing
the color of our eyes
and the weight of the lines
drawn deep on our faces
I play piano keys down her spine
and move my palm
to the small of her back
and press her soul into my own
trembling as we float
afraid of the space beneath us
but as I drift
she holds on tighter
Gone, and Leaving Good Behind
I was breathing fast
and looking up at a God
without an expression
so I reached out my bedroom window
and pulled apart the air
I looked at nothing like before
and tapped my pencil
against the wooden table and
listened to the silence
without her presence
Realistic thinking isn't real
but an excuse of panic,
an enabler of regret, while
you whisper what you wish
in divided tears
An empty house is filled
with pictures of your thoughts
as gravel spreads beneath your tires
I wonder if you are coming home
Budweiser and Tattered Air
I beckon the bramble with my legs churning
through the darkness like pistons
"time to leave,"
my guilt whispers
Passing roots and scraping needles
my heart inflates and sticks
to the side of my ribcage
Flashing freezes the trees
posing for the photoshoot
of my regrets
Voices scatter in the lost darkness
instructive and agitated
Dense daggers bind up
in silent laughter
smirking at my stumbling
The moss blanket unfolds
and I am swallowed by the earth
swimming through the dirt
Eyes refocused, I rise
to my hardened feet
legs creaking and arms torn
with blood from the bramble
my relief outweighing the wounds
Framing and The First
Someone will drift through your body
up your spine filling it with light
veiled with simple words and glass
Empty chairs and smooth tables
covered with wooden frames and cardboard
I glance at the scraping of your feet
A ringing raps on my limbs
and with eyes narrow and alert
I remember the smell of the moment
Bike Rides in the Spring Rain
We tangle our fingers and feel the bones
crack and lock into place
ready for raised eyebrows and coffee
black and warm
but clinging to the soft oven
and hands across my back
We travel in the open air
you are ahead with wind on your cheeks
looking back and humming
sad songs about getting older
your tears spilling into the tree
roots, willing them to grow
We dig down into the earth
tunneling toward each other
getting close enough to touch
fingertips, and look through the dirt
waiting to breathe again
