Burst
Burst and bloom
like tiger lilies
in back yards.
Travel hidden paths
behind over grown bushes
into a junkyard
full of memories-
spare tires
from the crushed vehicles
we were in.
Bursting flames;
engine on fire
from the crash of impact;
the bickering of direction;
we flew into a wall.
Broken glass
and fractured bones;
fat lips
and muscles torn.
Our pumping muscle
shocked and rushed-
indecision to salvage
With haste we threw it
amongst the other junk-
and walked away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wonder
I tried to call
before earthquake’s swan song
the rise and fall
of perspective.
Oh, who was it that whispered
promises in my ear
the night I watched dogs
fly through the sky—
howling a warning sign
we had yet to decipher.
It wasn’t until after
the smallest of earthquakes
shattered prized possessions
stored on shelves of ego,
that I bruised my cheekbones
on the cold cement
we called home.
Oh, but to relive
those lost days
of potential heartache
would cure the curious
parasites that gnaw
between backbone and meat.
The old turning tables
of belonging to us.
And now I find myself
where I began
In the boredom of chance
Ha! The denial of changing circumstance.
Reality naught but tender phantom
Gave me false advice
That I promised to follow.
But the bitter-sweet memory
of injuries
leaves me digging through the barrel
of broken potential-
I deny just as well,
Sitting on caving rooftops
of past perspective;
A bottle of hope in one hand.
But am I caving from aftermath
or current circumstance?
Convinced I climbed for hope,
but staying in fear,
that I’ll be misplaced.
So used to the thrill
of romanticized failure,
Would I live, love, create
If I refused to believe
the need to cave in?
How complex I make it all;
The constant questioning.
But your birth right
growled at me too many times,
to forget the shivers of fear
that jolted down my spine.
Can’t forget how
humble I was made,
when you’d speak like tiny earthquakes.
Do I apologize,
now that I am sane?
Shall I tell you the ending?
For I’ve said it to you
when we were lovers
writing gospels on rice paper:
Angel and God
is the closest to perfect chaos.
The circus of horrors
I left behind
I watch from a caving rooftop,
on a house covered in dead vines;
Missing the circus’ fire tricks,
Wishing…
I should have called
before heaven’s swan song.
Now frantic about forgetting,
I hang my eyes out to dry.
I was as sincere as you,
as deep as cigarette burns
between my thighs.
I meant what I said,
It’s a shame it took so long
to realize.
But to forget is to deny,
and though perspective
dizzy and disheartened
I refuse to be as dead as you.
For my heart beats still,
from the thrill
of finding myself without you.
Romanticize I may,
Unsure how long
Lover’s denial
will stay,
My slow decline
from the rooftops
of my memories
Leaves me fearful
of the potential fall—
My eyes focused
on the circus-
not the distance—
The ability to frighten myself,
is a talent I crafted
when we walked away
from tender earthquakes.
