Turning

“……as a Chinese jar still

Moves perpetually in its stillness.”
                  –T.S. Eliot
The sky’s cleared,
stars shine
within this
depthless black.
Stand here.
The sun will rise,
you know this
as true – –
your dark
will fall away;
stand here,
and welcome the day.
You decide
your clarity.
(from a work in progress, “Arcana,” Aceswords, January 7, 2014)

wake into it

the dream shatters into my day
with all its fear and self-recrimination
slicing deeply into all I believe
I rip at the flesh on my face
to peel like leeches the horrors
of what I’ve done to myself
my screams’ echoes reverberate
off the fragments of my bones
towards time’s hot beginnings

(from a work in progress: “Arcana,”  IXswords, January 6, 2014)

trapped

a chair’s propped up against the door
the one window’s bricked shut
a bare bulb flickers out of reach
at the room’s center I sit on the floor
palms up my hands hold only air
my eyes are closed breath uneven
I hear feet shuffling uneasily outside
the door knob begins to turn then stops
voices murmur indistinctly concerned

(December 26, 2013)

Excess Light Is Not the Problem

“Unreason is in the same relation to reason as dazzlement to the brightness of daylight itself.”—Michael Foucault
Truth’s troubled;
so it’s best
avoided
if you can.
Now I am not
saying anything
like to lie,
but locks are dangerous:
logic clicks
mechanically into place
without thought
for surrounding space.
To lie with truth begets
a problematic progeny.
(December 22, 2013)

controlled breathing

I write to
contain if even
for a moment
the slow breath
as the word
beneath the last
of the conversation
slips into this
world and shifts
slightly but
significantly
everything I see
to such a degree
that my bumbling
attempts at love
fall into mockery
and self-flagellation
and frighten you
away like a rabbit
into the brush

(December 7, 2013)