Text
still
it is only in the wee hours of the morning
that is actually spent
thinking,
seeing something not directly before you
putting little words and phrases together
like a blank puzzle;
it is only when it is dark
that i remember
what you really look like.
it is in the candlelight
where i am the most blinded
by my other senses,
left only by flickers of skin.
and moreso, it is when
the wine passes over my lips
in sweet betrayal of innocence
and i am stained
that i taste you.
there is cohesion unspoken of
that lingers across empty beds
and silent telephone calls.
i feel you, i hear you
even still.
Text
excerpt.
between the brain and the bottle,
there is brilliance
he will never harvest.
because it is only him,
because the full wallet
and empty bed suit him,
because he has
escaped.
- me.
Text
letter
i received a letter today.
it was from a former lover,
written in inksplattered, ugly
cursive
that danced downward
on the page.
it was nonsense really;
talk about family,
a work anecdote,
a quote from the prophet.
my stomach sank as the letter
progressed,
realizing just how boring
it can be to receive the love
of someone
you don’t give a shit about anymore,
at all.
soon enough the reason behind the
letter unfolded,
his mother had died
of a stroke,
age 83.
this woman was old
but not old like that crack your back
let me sit down because i just went to the kitchen
can’t drive or go to the
grocery store anymore old,
she was old like
aged, bitter whiskey
and dust.
but she liked me.
she used to kick the mailbox;
she called it alfred
and swore,
spiked the lemonade
at brunch
while the papers
piled up on her lawn.
her laugh came from someplace
unworldly,
a blazing cacophony,
irreverent and infectious,
and now no more.
i finished the letter,
put it back in the envelope,
set it on the table and stared at it.
the empty room felt
emptier now.
i wiped my eye,
smoked the rest of the pack and
threw the letter
away.
Text
drunk dial
when night slithers in
like a wanton mistake
and you feel the vibrations
through your body
small and quiet
like an airplane
you struggle to build words
and phrases
wine seeps from your lips
like blood
from an archetype argument
holding back all you know
to construct a taller castle
with mightier walls
while tears wash over you
in baptism
pride battles envy
brain against heart
a holocaust collision
there will be no
survivors
kingdoms will fall
but there is little one can do
when a man’s voice in your ear
pleads.
