I Keep Myself Going

I keep myself going
through a combination
of clever handiwork

a series of good recipes

carefully timed distractions

mailed to arrive midweek

it's the thing about dying in parts
you see it coming

and tie down what will be whipped by the wind
lock doors to rooms
lose keys

turn down beds
turn off lights

to let darkness settle in 

Tu M'as Trouvé

for M

It is there, now
in the spray of dark hair whispering wild
across the crisp white expanse of
linen

In the scent you caught -
bruised lilies and
something
much darker

And a hand folded gently into another
and the painful hiccup of magic
couched in an easy kindness

The Hand of Ice and Glass

They say you will be lost, in a world of winter and white. As fast as judgement, the ground beneath you will betray you. Quickly now, think!, before the world of sun-bleached sky and snow tumbles hard, away. The hand of ice and glass will dash the breath from you.

There was no time, you think, as the darkening grave sets around you. And the rules and laws that you used to carefully govern your existence have been wiped away. Perhaps a part of you decided, somewhere, and slipped against that heavy tide. Your limbs are held fast, and fading to a strange, sleeping cold. There is an ache like hunger, for sleep, and it coils heavily in the haze of breath pressed to your face.

If there was a beacon, it seems unlikely rescue will ever come. So it lies with you, to fight the press, and to warm your skipping heart.

To Reach that Seaward Strand

there are laws
that guide the slipstream
of even the sleekest boats

so I built this one
better than the last

before the shoreline
hides the stubble of broken rock
and the skeletons of hulls split wide

I build the finest ships
of teakwood
and brass
and finer things than have names
known anywhere near here

I trace the shape of that coast
against my thigh, even asleep
I whisper the names of those coves
inlets, and bays faster
and with more force
than my own name

I will not reach that seaward strand
but I build the finest ships
year after year,
of teakwood
and brass
and finer things than have names
known anywhere near here

Pour Casser, Pour Mettre Fin

Yes, I got your message. I felt the shiver of fear at the unknown number, and I surprised myself by going through the menus to check it. Before I even realized it was you, my heart was pounding hard and I had fallen to my knees. Your voice ripped out, brought to me across the miles, tearing through the distance, cutting across time and wounds not yet healed. How long it had been, since I heard your voice. I try, still, not to think even of your name.

Strange, the spell your warm breath whispered out. I shivered and suddenly you were there, lips brushing my ear. I expected honey and grime, but your blighted breath brought poison.

What did you have to gain, by letting me loose, and then to end it this way?

What's done is done

I give in no longer to that spark of hope

No longer pull closer to the sun
Instead I wane, and wane and wane.

Too Far Under Grey Skies

I have driven too far,
slept under grey skies
wandered from dark countries
into darker places, places unknown by human hands

I have found the deadly growth there
burning through new leaves
spores carrying far on dry winds
to settle and burn

I have seen the specter of the coming season
and I turn my face towards it
crawling slow into the darkling horizon

I'm not giving up, I'm just giving in

How Not To Be Alone, Step 1

forget the white flash of the half smile
the hiss of skin on linen
those quotidian pleasures are no longer yours

you trade the mortgage
the company-matched 401(k)
for a small apartment in the city
and trading barbs at a wine bar

and you will walk home to that glistening glass building
heels clicking on the concrete
the sound carrying far on the empty street

The Odds Catching Up

"Our loves are nothing," her voice flitting dangerously high
I nod, and agree
and what I had kept long hidden
twists, sharp, deep in the belly
I reach for the door handle
gagging for air
slipping from the car
my legs disobedient
crumpling to asphalt
and the taste of blood and broken teeth barely occurs to me

I try to whisper

"This was long overdue"