Friday, March 7, 2008
Fresh fallen slush gives away as you take a sip of warmth. Who would not want to join you? Those portals you peek through leave the rest wondering how to sidle up to such sweet water. Is it possible to know I wonder as I drag my muddy hoe through. As the time slipped away I knew there must be a way to kiss that broken jaw. The same jaw that broke me. Grasping for thoughts as we traded glances and smoke, I wondered if perhaps I was the only living boy in New York.
I shouldn't have, but I put the totem back together tonight. Did I feel the energy or simply sit by as my thoughts became mute? My hand was steady and that old wood gave a familiar and calming scent. The chaos was charmed in my unmoving hand. Warm and steady, an unfamiliar sensation graciously punctured me.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Is this the price, she asked me. Must I stretch and find every curve just to find a place to rest and sob? How come I can not find the simple laughs like others? The blandness of my cover showed the holes. Where the stars peaked through I dared not whisper. My tears were not warm enough to keep her safe. I wanted to kiss and dared not speak. I did flutter, though. I could not mistake such eyes. I knew I was done as I stuttered something forgotten. How could I say something when the accounting of me was being hosed clean? As my tears of her crusted my pillow, I tried to remember why I had voice left at all. I drew one last memory of her lips, and set out to forget.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
bottle neck squeezed me for the last shine. Didn't need it but took it. Better than one more useless song hitting the street. Lyrics were burping as I tried to bridge your beauty with my words. Could I cut the rope and float down your running river? In the spinning eddy I found I was truly lost. Could I kiss that jaw? Could I lend a lean shoulder to your cause? Would you know that this not your poem? As I repair to some semblance of a man, I am torn down by such beauty. Burn I must, I suppose. Not a hand does this one reach for, merely casting stones into such a clear stream. Your hair tied up, your glistening eyes, your Maker's, your pin stripes, your too cold shoes...allow me to write you a song. One such as you deserves a song of their own. I will sing that song beauty.
I could see nothing but the copper window I stared up into. Your eyes were not as clear as the reflection of that startlingly cold morning. My sweat was quickly becoming an icy blanket of regret. What do you take me for? I scream this as I imagine I am still massaging your toes. To wake with nothing in my lap reminds me why you prefer hot chocolate.