adrift

A dream somewhere 
now long forgotten
a nightmare
swallowing days 
in a consecutive hunger
a passion lost
to the scattered seas
a whisper of failure
like a feather in the wind
a hollowed shell
vacated in a hurry
a slow, muddy, meandering existence
drifting directionless towards the inevitable
end

What was the war about, again?

We fought day in and out
against what we thought was an oppressive force
trying to embed itself
into our daily routines, 
into our bedrooms and internal organs. We resisted
against the onslaught of neon messages
telling us how to dress,
how to eat,
how to think,
but in the end
the electric movement was too powerful
for our hand-made ideas.
Our organic thoughts shriveled
and browned
before implementation was ever conceived.

And so, we assimilated into the daily pattern
of breathing in and out,
walking side to side (never forward).

It became the way days were lived,
until our memory of a freer, more fluid time period
was abandoned,
forgotten.

Here we are now,
soldiers with bayonets loosened from our grasp,
their purpose unknown.

Here we are,
a collective of individual veneers,
fumbling through unrecalled wants.

What war?

A Terrible Promise to Lady L

Instead of healing my wounds,
they slathered some ointment on the injury,
slapped a band-aid on it, 
and let me leave.

I knew the scar that would grow
would be deeply etched and irrevocable.

I knew the disease that had seeped into the gash,
now swimming in my blood,
would slowly cause me to rot internally
before there was ever a visible clue to my condition.

But they weren’t interested
in actually addressing the disease
resulting in my slow death.
They were only bartering on borrowed time
to get me out their door,
hoping I’d forget their disinterest and
continue payment on their exorbitant tab.

The fundamentals of understanding

First, you must seek acceptance,
complete and (w)ho(l)ly your own,
through the exchange of oxygen and carbon,
as you expand to intake the universe
and expel it in a slow steady caress.

Second, you must taste the tang of empathy
titillating the tip of your tongue
the central vein,
as it washes in whispering waves
against the cavity of your throat.

Third, you must nourish the path your feet tread
rooting into the strength and unwavering sootiness
that keeps you uplifted and away from the abyss.
This darkness is the negation of light that
embodies a complete misunderstanding
of that word “human”, so often misapplied
and mistaken for upright ambulatory movement.

Then, you can send love into the fire of your soul
and keep the embers in a burning glow.
Just allow yourself to breathe,
open your eyes,
and see.

a modern construction

The walls in this house are like a blood-brain barrier,
letting the strange voices seep through,
sustaining me on vitriolic echoes while
preventing the infiltration of
biological refuse from disintegrating emotion, 
that conversion of exothermic to endothermic reaction,
that peripheral touch that might have caused me
not to wake from my slumber,
not stumble across the house
with my mussed hair and cloudy vision,
not witness the death of anything resembling wholesome familial connection.

The heat in the room sparks and sizzles
with syllabic exactitude between their bifurcated origins.
I am left cold
with fear and confusion.

Weeks later,
the biggest, strongest man I know
will spill his salty sadness upon my pillow,
leaving me, at the mature age of five,
to pick up the pieces and
reassemble the puzzle of our days.

A few remain missing, though;
I can still see through the veneer.

romance & cigarettes

you lie there, 
recklessly, 
amongst the folds of wrinkled cotton sheets, 
your breasts pressed against a strewn pillow,
your derriere, like a ripe peach,
almost touching my thigh,
the soft fuzzy hairs
seeking me out with a passive electricity,
like cilia.
The cheeks still blushed red from my handprints,
my loving caresses
that had caused you to dig your heels in,
rocking with increasing fervor
as you pitched and swayed
your way to fulfillment.
I had watched the glorious bloom rise
from your hips to your face and back,
as you panted with pleasure,
eyes closed,
intent on your own cresting wave
steadily crashing into mine,
the echo of which
begins to fire synapses
along the length of my nerves
as I raise my hands to my lips
and suck long,
hard,
and deep
on the cigarette resting between my lips,
a prelude to my intent,
my means of waking you from your slumber,
as I set the nicotine in the tray next to me,
a mere afterthought,
a minor stimulus
compared to that drug
between your legs.

You’ve changed

Your smile is reluctant
where it once was welcoming,
ready. 
Your eyes are cloudy
with a hint of grey;
gone is the warm clear gaze.

You have forgotten
what the promise of the moon feels like.
You are generally unkempt, uncaring.
Your skin is rough, callused,
brown from excessive melanin.
You think you might have fallen asleep
in the sand
on your afternoon stroll,
but the details are in disagreement with each other.
You are adamant that you gazed out
over the ocean stillness while
being sandblasted smooth by a fierce desert wind.
Never mind that you haven’t seen the sea in decades,
and it’s been raining soft and steady
for weeks on end.

There is a weak impression of the sun
somewhere overhead,
a dull burning echo of you,
a mere existence.