In the Blood

The lie of my truth

visors the angle

of my descent.

I have no face,

but reflection,

a mirror

to lace assumption’s

discordance.

My flesh contains

shattered selves—

a prismatic array,

where each shard

bends an image

of itself into another.

This truth lies

along an edge

of broken glass;

it slices the air

with ribbons of light,

like tall grass

cuts children’s legs

as they flee through

the last summer fields.

(August 15, 2019)

Turning Point

write-sales-letter

advice to my 15-year-old self

 

Keep writing; it defines you.

you are about to meet your wife;

she is not your current crush.

 

Your dad is dying.

In a couple of months, he’ll know.

It will take two years.

 

Except for your wife,

who you do not know yet,

no one thinks like you.

 

Poetry will save you

now, and again forever:

so read more, write more.

 

You will become who you are.

Quit German, learn Spanish.

(September 17, 2018)

Supplication

tmkrdpyizstosqtdvogm

 

My mouth is my wound,

a stigmata of broken teeth

and words. My tongue’s slashed

like ribbons flapping

in the mountain’s wind.

My prayers snap violently

into the icy air’s silence.

 

I don’t know what to do

now: swallow my own

blood, and drown; or spit

my life onto the ground

to call forth a bitter

beast which I fear

will devour me whole?

 

(May 11, 2018)

Teaching

IMG_3451

 

I’m not sure I do much,

but open doors, set up chairs,

provide a place to read,

talk, write; which is enough

and yet, is not enough

to beat back the belligerence

barking like a spittle-flecked

beast. I can’t save them

from what is to come,

nor always be there to speak

amiably into their distress,

and voiceless traumas.

But there is this room,

an open door, and a chair.

 

(March 27, 2018)

regret’s fear

“into this image of himself he dives”
–Charles Baudelaire
it was safer to create you
alone hidden in shadows
where only I could find you
when I was tired and tense
and full of fear’s insecurities
safer than your living flesh
smooth beneath my slow hand
slipping like silk across your skin
fear of fulfillment far exceeded
any regret of might have beens
yet I fear now I have lost you
and regret all that went unsaid

(March 16, 2015)

stairs

“I change too quickly:  my today refutes my yesterday. When I ascend I often jump over steps and no step forgives me that.”           
            –Friedrich Nietzsche
I plod up the stairs
take a step up
then sit
before stepping down
again
the step looks familiar
but it’s not
that was the one
from yesterday
today the stairs
still ascend as well
as return to the ground
I too change quickly
so much so
my today and yesterday
implode without
condemnation
nor forgiveness
no tomorrow
to refute that
stepping forward
or stepping back
I still stand
one foot above the other

(February 16, 2014)

a choice

There is no reason
to continue the same,
to resist the demands
time does claim.
Cramped up in fear
of what might be lost,
like a penny crimped
within a vise,
the chance to change
refuses to unfold
as it would if one
would only let go.
Cling to the edge
of this abyss,
or fall back toward
a newer bliss?

(from a work in progress, “Arcana,” IVpentacles, February 13, 2014)