while meaning no harm
let me teach you of self-sacrifice:
the knife
is never dull
and neither are the words.
so as you speak
watch the way trees are whittled
into swans
each symbolic,
come craning towards the sky
others planting their face
beneath a tussled wing.
I often find you downtown in the square
though it is shaped
more like a cigarette box.
you appear as lemons-
seemingly fine until
the soft spot is uncovered
and you aren't so edible.
the bench you chose faces a gaunt fountain,
dirty water belittled by
the prevalence of dirty men
each more disgusting than the next
shoving a fist
down the front of their pants
as if
they're unsure they are still men.
ironically
in each corner the statue of a woman stands,
one cradles fruit like a child
while another seems lost in
in their hair.
the most gorgeous figure
to the right
stares at you
as if
to look life in the face
and then put it away
I've asked myself
what might have been lost
if the sun had set later
on the day you waited for death like a warm cup of tea;
would you be different
seared glass holding composure
yet no color.
but it figures
that you live
and again nothing matters;
to you I am sperm
the aftermath of pleasure
and I
am never pleased-
I stack pillows on your chest
and sit on top
to feel asymmetrical breath
escape from your lungs
filled with pennies and grime
just like the floor of your mind.
and as much as I've tried
to cast a wish
through your ear
maybe you could retain it
beneath the nails
you chew at so fervently
eventually
your blood-stream will be inundated
and I'll be the master
of your mouth.
maybe then you'll see
I am that red tree on the horizon
able to set eyes aflame with a shift in the sun:
as my roots undo
know
they built this hill
this house
this ribcage of hell
and all I ask is for you to run,
not taking part.
yet through the collapsing
I would still wonder
of the many poisons why did I favor yours
stagnant yet sweet
as a browning apple,
it screams and chants
just like the pregnant rain
not resting like stains
but twisting and kicking
wanting the freedom of soil.
there are several spaces
between our arms when we sleep,
they fill
with pools of sweat
each telling its' own story and delving
into a canyon between two wrists:
meet me
where the knotted river converges
and we will trace its end,
fasten it upon both our fingers
pull east and west
until the first man splits apart
and the other will know
true intention
Author notes
i will rise from the water, though i'm cold and wet i will be clean
critiques are always nice
Comments
1 - 22 of 22
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People don't truly realize how words are pointed daggers...
I love your images in your opening stanza, the way you have with words will always amaze me.
Stanza two was a piece in iteslf...and brilliant at that.
This speaks on so many levels to me, it makes me think of a past that I hated...
you are a god sweetheart.
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one of the most complete things i've read from you. the images in the first few stanzas compose someone so consistently and uniquely at the same time, something like...a painful process of growth or rebirth that ends with a sense of feeling jaded or incomplete. it's what i got at least from the seared/colorless glass and craning/hidden swan face. the entire fifth stanza was great. i sensed a lot of parallels between how you describe yourself here and whoever else you're writing about though i can't really explain why that is but i'm sure it has something to do with the way this ends. i'll go back and read the last few stanzas sometime because i think they tell a lot about the situation i didn't get originally, but i loved the organization of this and am glad you wrote it
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it was excellent seeing you the other night
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Stellar!
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'and we will trace it's end'
its end.
I'm not a super-fan of 'asymmetrical breath' in stanza four, but that's a personal peeve. everything else is absolutely incredible.
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wonderful to read...
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god where have you been!
i missed your writing and this one is epic, as usual. i am so jealous of you, you know that? i am not bullshitting, i mean shit the ideas that you have are gold! i am hopefully one day going to write as well as you, but until then i'll just admire your writing
<3
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Please, please, please stop going away
Your writing is fu*king amazing and enthralling always.
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just a suggestion for the last stanza:
meet me
where the knotted river converges
and we will trace its end,
fastened upon both our wrists
pull east and west
but it's for sure its.
love your stuff.
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What a painful, pain-filed journey this is...
but each stanza was a poem in itsefl. Well written piece, my friend.
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and as much as I've tried
to cast a wish
through your ear
maybe you could retain it
and then put it away
not resting like stains
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wow.
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the first stanza. good shit.
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lol should i cut everything else out?
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yes. and post all the other stanzas as their own poems, so i can go mouse-happy bookmarking every single one.
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I have missed you
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stanza 4- your lungs*
with this you may have just jumped to the place of my favorite writer on this site. seriously. stellar.
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aww man such a high compliment. you know i think you're grand.
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also. you posted this 4 times. lol
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fuck..........................................oops
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holy shit.
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<3
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