All around him, the forest burns,
uncontrolled, beautiful.
The warmth reassures him
with its certainty.
His fingers burn; the flesh
chars as on a spit.
He turns, searching;
but she is gone, if ever
she were truly there.
He stands alone,
arms outstretched.
Flames leap through the trees;
smoke swallows the sky.
(December 10, 2019)
It’s not fair to compare
one to the other where secrets
are apropos to a love affair,
or some distant war as far
as that goes. Yet, what’s to be
done to stop it? What metaphor
within yourself were you willing
to sacrifice? As long as one
doesn’t mind water swallowing
your words, it’s simple enough
to drown in any nearby river.
I, too, hold my expectations
at a distance in order to live—
I’m not sure what occurred,
or even if we were just lovers.
(August 15, 2018)
The line demarks a space
opened in the word—
As I speak, I see
the air tremble like glass.
The length of time left
demands fealty to the page,
to a resonance with a past
that is only there in mind.
An open window no longer
distorts vision, nor withholds
access to a world other than
the tight confines of this room.
A vein runs my arm’s length,
spilling blood across the floor.
(June 15, 2018)
I stand beneath layers
of my sedimentation,
as if the very air
has turned to silt
settling to the sea floor.
I know no tendency
toward an escape
beyond a calm acceptance
of the fossil formed
from what used to be me.
A configuration shaped
to a shell implies a notion
of what it once meant to be
a creature alive in the sea.
(April 25, 2018)
clotting into a thick mass
dread drops like cottonwood fluff
throughout the soft afternoon
I cannot breathe this darkness
too many knots of decay
to choke like thorns down my throat
each morning I spit a bit
then find scraps of redemption
as I stumble out the door
a new day’s dark-red dawn blurs
a simple numbness unfolds
inevitable and cold
I gasp and look to the sky
hopeful I will breathe today
(November 30, 2017)
I’m worn,
Exhausted,
Without laughter.
Each moment haunts
Anxiety’s edge,
And waits
With a studied
Grace, for chance
To become propitious.
Hold me here
To outwait
The passing fear:
The troubled night,
The knife at my throat.
(November 4, 2017)
