Upside down.

Malone

June 27, 2008 at 9:37 pm (Poetry, Rant)

In the high atmosphere, where mothers try
to kiss there children, dear, the days fly by on
jet engines, like the silver spoons stored inside
the bottled lye kept in your dad’s
bed-side table, hiding.

But I swear to God, if he
keeps it up
with that monotone drear
I’ll tear it all off, starting
with our ears, working our spines
into the broken-down careers
held by residents of
the veneer that covers our
years and years of practice,
the beers we’ve licked and smeared
down the walls in the rear
of your second-rate condo.

Permalink 1 Comment

Willows

May 22, 2008 at 5:19 am (Poetry, Rant)

I sleep in a grove
of willows, weeping
for love long
lost to lust-
er, or lack thereof.
The roots wrap themselves
’round my body, binding me,
consigning comfort, or perhaps
empathy–pity, partly
for my pretenses.
I stare upward to see
the glimmering sunlight between
bundled branches, singular leaves
weighed down by the wetness, the
moisture of the morning mist, and
I am mystified with how this
spectral light fills me
with such
malice.
Bitter, like the bark
of the tree that bears me,
I bite my tongue to
trap the trail of screams and swears
trying to escape my throat; I
bite my tongue to learn
again how to breathe.
Leaves are falling now.
They lower themselves gently into my mouth;
they cover my eyes, my hands and they
grow greener as they drink me.
I sleep in a grave
of willows, weeping.

Permalink 1 Comment