Thin Mercy

A blade; sharp

But not painless

It's yours and I am ant

Torment unheard, unfelt

Can you not see

My forfeit?

Can you not smell

My fear?

Ant and Blade

A war lost

You step on tiny bodies

And look at me

As I am

Ant-like

No movement

But I am cut open; splayed.

My gold

Spent on Revenge

Ant and Blade

Cruel, so much

Such thin mercy, and

As always

You never fail to 

Disappoint

Imbrue

Imbrue



To whom do I belong?

I am marked, in this pit, and who is responsible
Who shall be held accountable
The pit, was I the one who dug it
Did I move the earth away and make a place
For myself to fall
Did you push me, or did I merely lean back
Into it

I am marked — with your bite; your stain; your ink; your honey.
In the darkness of the moon
I see nothing, all I feel
Is the mark
Though it be hidden in the shadow of
This pit
Where I find myself

I am marked and down here I will stay
Marked possession
Marked for the end
Marked for the pit
I dug it, empty until my fall and
Now, I am marked
I belong to you.

Two Weeks

Two Weeks



I cannot wait for the taste
Of salt water in my mouth
For the massive nothing
That I will fall into when I finally
Let go

I’ll slip away

You’ll lose me
For damage done
For the whip
For every word ignored

I will dissolve in a smile
Into the black
Into the thick reeds
Into a place beyond you

And every bullet that I bit, and that
Fell down into my belly, will
Fill me up
Fill my heart
Fill my swollen veins

Heavy with lead

There will be nothing to stop the sinking.

Cornered And Devoured

I am flushed and warm.
I think I may be enormous,

--   from 'Letter in November' by Sylvia Plath




I bloom. No!
Rather...
I ripen and become a deep golden red;
Heavy and sweet.
Testing the branches that have held me for so long.
By a mercy will I fall
And be granted lenitive freedom
Will this imagined, glass-clear curse be lifted
For how long;
Until when;
And
Why now?
Boiled in my skin, near splitting.
Yielding to the sharp edge,
Wilting on the hot oil
Then
Seasoned with promise —
The vines of yesterday no longer around my
Arms and neck.
Now;
Compliant.
Now;
Wild.
Now;
Depraved.

I am
The wanton meal upon your table
Spread me thin,
Poach me.
Or slice me open and
Set me afire.

Whitewash

Matthew 7:20
Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.




Tempered heartbeat
Wrong side of the road
Upon a narrow ledge
Favonius has since claimed me

All my bills on black
I don’t care if I lose
Russian roulette; run amok
No longer afraid

Will I last?
Hold me under and see
A play; con; hook.
A Kansas City Shuffle.

Mockery mask
I am the fool no more.
Lessons not easily learned
This is how I still breathe

Tonight.

The Tower

The cunning and the forceful will win me both equally
It is the cocksure, the arrogant, and the false certainty of this that I cannot stand
It burns now, The Tower.
Perhaps we built it knowing we could never really live there.
I am changing, I am willing. I am Proteus.
But you have no surety of who you are at all
I didn’t create you or push you out, in this place
Nor did I posses any trace of leverage to assume you a changed state
And yet you hung it all on me as if I were there, only to take it
A prisoner in our Tower.
Nevermind
There is another now, and — like the pomegranate; broken —
I can finally see all the stars

Lovely Moonraker And The Friday Eggs

Lovely Moonraker And The Friday Eggs

I wrote this last week, it's a secret thank you note. No doubt I'll have something hateful finished by Thursday, for it is the devil's day and this might just be the one that breaks me...










A single moment of kindness
I saw all of you
Your inner fool, you didn’t know
Not really
Wanting to tell it to me
The fact of
The thought for it
So simple and perfect
I’ll give you all
You want
Though, I would have
Either coin-side

Undo these fetters and
Set me free and then
We’ll see
My errant gifts
My tirelessness
I’m better than the truth
Though be I no sage
I’m all the fetid fun you’ll have
Now that you’ve
Opened me up
With this cupboard love.

All The Things That I Am Missing

The body I chased
It chased me as well
My longing's a place
My dying a sail

~ from 'Mission' by Leonard Cohen

All The Things That I Am Missing

End of the day
Stained sweaty
Clothes in a pile
Find him sleeping
Slip over hips
Take what we need
From each other
Dinner then dishes
Separate showers
A book; a snore
Curled against
Perfection held
Morning light
Brings breakfast
Orange juice, black
Coffee, eggs, bacon
It’s Tuesday
Iron his shirt
Press kiss to jaw
Gone, drove off
Wait for return
Night looms, not
Home just yet
Hang from edge
Need sweet, let go
Give in, desire
It’s all gone
Oh, but now I
Remember
What I have
Is none of this
Responsibility;
It’s not mine
Hush, as I do
A few lines
Off this stripper’s
Back