October 25, 2016 · poetry

I Promise; The End

Poetry for my soul
a spiny whelk in brine
caked armoring, you lost
your touch
and fucked it up again.

Odin’s beard, mate,
what a foul stench.
Pin shackles to my feet
and let me drag about
poking in my skin,
drawing with my blood,
a splatterpaint of raindrops.
Not a speck left to me,
in my eye or yours.
It’s vengeance that I want,
and I will have it,
spread upon a sheet and glistening.


Jesus, can you understand this?
the hope and disappointment and sorrow?
the danger of hardening joy?

the tears that take so long to come, that get waylaid on their way?

words, words, words
when a feather gets
caught on a sweater
the words
capering madly, grinning badly,
forgotten how to speak.
cauterized and tenderized
I beg you sing a song.
whistle the tune all night long,
come for me in the morning
when you awake,
and we’ll find a crooked path
skirting God’s rays
carrying off the sunlight
and I’ll lay you down
and we’ll weep together,
our hearts and tongues caught in a feather
so every breath is a gasp
every sigh is a scream
as high as you can go
and no higher,
that’s the way we were –
a silent kitty fracas, feathers flying fur
and now look away:

the candles burned,
the floor caught fire.

we thought you knew us
but actually
you knew only yourself
desperately.
you tigged and togged, jigged and jogged,
checked the boxes, drained the foxes,
let yourself out one by one.

when were these decisions made
that all of us must live by?
a pre-dawn muttering,
coffee over breakfast,
fluttering by the afternoon?
a long sleepless night, a slow steady supper,
a stakeout on the window shutter?
Damn it, come and try again,
draw your roots back down
among the sunflowers and their seeds.
you planted this garden too.

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