She

Waiting for this Death

I do not feel you anymore.

Your thoughts are as distant

As the strange, eccentric shafts

Of moonlight.  

Your touch no longer

Animates my soul

But rather, seems foreign

And fragile; lackluster incantations.  

I wait for you in an empty room

With empty expectations.  

I wait for you

With a death bell clutched between my fingers

Furtively waiting

To ring in the death

Of this affair.

Little Brother

You’re still hurting

Much more than I imagined.

I wish I could reach over

And touch your heart,

Put something in it

To make it beat like it used to

And bring the light back into your eyes.

We all have cracks in our world

But yours is deeper

Darker

And buries incurable tragedies.

I would offer you my hand

And lead you to life;

But I don't know

the way.

Your Love, As a Metaphor

This little earth of my mine

Never quakes anymore.

I am lumbering

In a dead land

Where the land and sky

Cracks and aches

Parched and stripped

As dry and swollen as a corpses lips.

It seems so long ago

That I was forced to let you go

And wander deadpan

Into these vacant dead lands

Where your touch is as rare

As the song  

Of a bird.

How to Love an Addict:

Come here a moment,

Sit down

While I stitch up that

Same, sore wound

You’ve reopened so many times. 

If you don’t mind, I’m

Putting in a small piece of my heart

Before I close this up

Just as little as I can give;

At trite relic, really.

When I’m done I want you to leave

Shut the door behind you

And never look back. 

I'm not a surgeon 

and I'm not saint

and I want to keep close

what's left of my heart.  

I miss you for

The man you want to be

The man you never will be

The man you never were

Which is to say

I don’t actually miss you at all.  

Unprophetic Vision

I had a flutter of a vision last night

Standing in front of a snow capped mountain

With a cherry faced man, both of us wearing

Fleeced winter hats, baring toothy grins. 

Sparkling like a tethered bird

Who forgot how to fly.

But I wear red, spaghetti strapped camisoles

And vexing, black skirts

Drunk, just a little,

High, just a little,

Dance on the slippery, glittery club floor

Like a stripper;

Letting them caress the wild, wisps of my black hair

Touch all the right places, just a little,

Until I able to

Unleash the fettered, bruising restraints

That bind my soul. 

Now that is a vision.