In Isolation

I.

Fitfully, I turn my brass key and lurch forward into bedlam and
my right is my left and you are beside me and without me all at once
streaming from me abundantly, a spring untapped by hands of man
you stab me with feathery eyes though you do not touch my fumbling skin

And I think that I love you but my fear of the words hinders me
turning me to salt or stone or an ungainly mixture of both
there is a pulsing burn inside these ribs of bronze and
I feel more than I care to, buckling in a failing fire

Look forth, kindly, with your opal eyes, for
though I cannot possess you with my hands
my deepest being cradles yours gently, a
sphere of calcite or shell or unbendable bone

In the pasture of my minds eye, you melt into the flowing green sod
a creature for which love knows no bounds
but I curl, carelessly, an arched child denouncing fear but
suffering more than she can stomach, being human

II.

I shout over you, a barreling bull whose
eyes see nothing but know everything
and then we are slow and conjoined
your breath accelerating and I see
you are uselessly running in place

I lurk in the gloom; you are fighting a steady battle
and the mirror and tile are your allies
the bottle abandoned and the intake reversed
your knees touch down, then hands,
and torso, cold on the carpet

I am in motion, terrified and in love
asking for your help though you have forgotten why you came
and your sobs wrack me like a strange child’s cries
echoing down the hallway, into the void
I grip your hand and my words burst forth

Three hours pass in sedation, and
you turn for me in slumber
In our reverie, we are hungry
so we consume and discount our every want
I recline with aching shoulder on fire and

My memory cannot ease the undying sting nor
the damage your absence will cause me

17 May 2011

On The Loss Of Time

I have enjoyed this, playing house
going to bed with our hair wet
breathing as one animal and
waking in a silent embrace

I was fed by coffee and the
time to read and make words
I padded about, barefoot
wearing your shirt and my tired eyes

I thank you for sharing your
towel and your toothbrush
your lone pillow and the
milk and sugar

I see two houses, your belongings, and
your growing anger

I did not enjoy the morning you
pretended to break the dishes
in the communal sink
smiling with your eyes closed

I was bent shapeless by
your tears, your hairy struggles
Your unrealized ambitions
removed my backbone

I first swallowed fear at
the ominous contents of
your skull, pumping iron and
burning through women ad infinitum

I soldiered on, folding the
laundry and breathing
a lungful in
a lungful out

I was constant as the ticking clock
until you could not hear me
even as I kicked and screamed
on every godforsaken hour

Remember the fervor
with which I persisted in
loving you like my art or
a wonderfully infected child

And in the end, for that is
where we are, I leave
without a word, for your
pupils hold nothing but acid rage

I hope I am still tangible
hanging on your wall
hovering in the haze and
melting in the candelabra

When all this falls away
I do not know if your hair
will be long or short or
thick or thin but

I do know you will be
unable to remain numb and
the heavy tide will rush in,
an angry mother

Do not forget the sound of my alarm
my grabbing hands and my kiss
the poems that you wrote in me and
my spirit that you broke in two

Hold tightly to these for
they fade as our beauty fades

I see five years, your broken glasses, and
my rotting love

1 February 2011

Speaking Against The Sun

His heart was disconcertingly dark tethered to the bark of the
last fig tree and crying bitter tears but I could not navigate
within its minutiae and lost in its damaged lobes my sight left me
wandering in his city of pain for the mornings were most bleak and
he was compulsively unsettled scrubbing cast-iron and porcelain and
wildly foraging in the sandbox of his past seeking his anger his delirium
his reason for debilitation or a pill for the unending burn so
I threw him a line screaming without profit and gave of my tears my water
any resource to save and be saved and in my passion my sweat ceased
my voice ran dry much to my curiosity for I had fancied myself
a wellspring of unending love but the sparrow that once
gleamed golden in me was erased as I buckled in the silver sand
but in my absence he flowered laying down behind me and
clasping my dirty-cold neck his arm over my pallid remains and
through my stale eyelids I see the horizon flash green as
the dusk dives into the mountain and the stars beat 'round the waxing moon
for a dreamless night must always follow a trying day

12 January 2011