The light arrived to us sharing one dream. Of you, and me — reeling,
ill-met by the stars. The vision bends under my hand and all that I turned
you into spills wildly to the floor. But you just laugh and swim in the pool
of light. I watch as the glow covers the entire house.
We sat there for a hundred years at least. As the pictures of us became
animal bones, a memorial of perfect vertebrae lining the walls, gleaming white — absolutely dead. People came to see us eventually. …
You are so confused about the workings of suffering.
ㅤIf you could nail it to the wall, that sprawling vulgar
ㅤㅤcaricature, you would ask the wrong questions.
And the answers would be dust in your mouth,
ㅤthe grief you carry will sharpen into a knife.
ㅤㅤSurely, the lines imitating lips would twist in scorn.
If only you could separate the two: the harm and
ㅤthe body. The sorrow and the soul tethered to it.
ㅤㅤHow long would the divorce last?
How long before the blade returns to the hands
ㅤthat made it?
All things will tremble too, in terror, at the ending of the day. The shock of night is an uncontrolled fear unfurling its serpentine body to snap at hope’s heels. It only hastens one’s footsteps to the edge of the grave.
I am not at all afraid, nor appalled by its nature. I learned to temper my own darkness and, in the pause, became acquainted with the terrible intricacies of dying. I know how the soul slips down, how the hands turn up, how the screams rush out into emptiness only to fade to echoes.
I have tasted poison licked…
Did you think I could ever leave you lost?
ㅤㅤFor I did not abandon you lightly
To the wilderness of despair’s domain.
ㅤㅤAnd you were the heat of my creeping flesh.
My red-fire love with your twisted, burning
ㅤㅤSmile, your charcoaled teeth, I climb over hills,
Of hunger, I lay men bare to find you.
ㅤㅤOnce within our second awakening
We will kick the embers alight, awake!
ㅤㅤMy love, we will watch the inferno lick
The land with smoking tongue and scorch the sky
ㅤㅤWith blazing head. We shall die, yes, in love
But in glory, be reborn — divine, new
ㅤㅤAnd smiling like the sun at brilliant dawn.
May kicks the door open
and the rain comes marching in with a thousand feet.
Suddenly whole towns are covered in her wake.
Clouds grow heavy—
hanging low, stretching their bodies into the horizon
and the landscape drinks, saying goodbye
to the uninterrupted heat of Sun,
itself to May’s rushing embrace.
Rivers swell and roll like happy children romping,
their wet underbellies brown with clay.
It is true, that the trees of the hinterlands worship
in her cathedrals of diffused light—singing,
oh, how hauntingly they sing her secret monsoon song
to veiled gray mornings.
At night she rests her…
I cannot make you stay, so this is me pinning
the word ‘longing’ clumsily to my chest —
Telling you it is best you leave.
Love dims to dark nights.
Clutching the tired animal of your heart,
Watching me come home
With someone else’s jacket.
Pain is a thorn growing between us,
Blue skies. Me sleeping
Beside you, utterly alone.
Anger tastes like rust, or
An unfinished apology — rotting
Smoking red hues smell a lot like jealousy.
Smells like sunset bleeding into
Or the sound of silent Screams into pillows, Wet eyes Tracing…
Pining is always good natured
filled with aching
and fluttering touches
their feelings — terrible bouts of red days —
bloom under the skin
to the brunt of night
the universe has
we rise in nothingness
but love comes always
with a vengeance
the water sliding down
my skin like rhyme
who can say ‘I love you’
the ways that matter
without bursting open
tenderness is sometimes
a deafening hum
trapped in another lonely
and life is decay
or an animal…
There is no grace in the exit, he says,
There is no love in a body that cannot grow.
I ask for a second chance, it comes
to me covered in bite marks.
He laughs, sweet bells
in an abandoned church, and
a flood washes over me.
So fucking weak, he spits.
I call from under the waves.
There is no air in this corner of the world,
no breath that does not
end in a spasm of pain,
no warning before lungs
fill with water.
There is blood in it,
red petals blooming. …
I think about the ruins we create. The way the body can become a haunted house. The way we exist, like visions occupying dark corners, always
on the edge of sight. We are not here. Not entirely.
I think about devotion, the way it is much like haunting, or being haunted,
(for the haunted must allow the haunting), and its nature to alter
us from the bloody inside.
Lovers go to war for it, this war is uncreated. …
It is high noon
and the sun beats against my back
as I walk. I think about this heat
as it courses through me,
how my skin welcomes the sting.
About how I was once frozen,
how I craved the warmth of day.
I would scald its soft planes at night
trying to shock
these bones back to life.
I was reeling and it was invisible.
It wasn’t a feeling;
feelings pass, feelings change,
it was something possibly lethal.
It was a metamorphosis,
a most deadly transformation.
I was becoming something
that did not need a body to survive.
It did not need love, or pain or sadness.
I was afraid of, repulsed by
and victimized by it,
and I could not find separation.
That is the great tragedy.
Nothing makes sense until I write it down.