Scavenger XOR lover, your heart
never belonged to me, never could
penetrate the thin wall behind the
armour
I wore it for thirty-five years,
unknowingly calling it me, and my, and
the ultimate I
Your scythe of solemn truth, breaking
as you joined the sisterhood, blessed
I found myself heartless — paper thin
You watch me undress. Our fingers covered in sick & the stench lingers as we embrace; as our touch disregard our fattened shapes; we embrace & let the world fade.
You watch me undress; your mirror like a bra too small, like a growl too loud, like an orgasm faked: scattered throughout infinity. Our fingers touch, soiled and wanting, stained and
Put all your eggs in a single basket,
one basket, cushioned
to handle the fall
Worry not of unforeseen days,
place all your chicken in the
same pen;
Leave the door open for the fox
to venture,
to find his partner
Wanting
Put your lighter in the air,
then dream of
two-stroke fumes igniting,
dream of
youth wanting
of your wanting
These are the darkest days
Shivers of yesteryears
Unfathomed curls of red dreams
Shades of eyes peering
These are the darkest days
Laughter from a clown’s face
Spigots plugged up your …
Shades of remorse flapping
These are the darkest days
We jig and I say no thing
We hug and a Jay waves
Shared blessings bouncing
These are the darkest days
Black on grey in humble rain
Foulest smell of droppings
Beneath eyes of dusk — wanting
Satan went shopping, online , with little knowledge of the state of affairs in the frozen fridge department.
Satan went shopping, online, ticking most of the square boxes from previous perilous purchases, keeping the new snake suggestions an option for a later date.
Satan went shopping, online, expecting a swift delivery but had to consent to dreary days of waiting, days without liquid fires bottled.
Satan went shopping, online, and waited in anguish for the delivery man to arrive, to quench the thirst for every birth unexpected.
Satan went shopping, online, only to find the delivery man delivering too much for the frozen fridge to swallow, too much for the fucking square peg to fit in the round hole, too much for the writer in anguish to cope with.
Satan went shopping, online, while the writer sought peace among the vegetables not fitting, sought a piece of broccoli withering, then
died.
There’s something magical about not fully grasping every word… not seeing the whole picture… yet enough to say: yes, I get it, I am connected, there’s history here and I with you on your journey,
Maybe life was not made for someone like me. After all, not all people have a home, a job, or a family. So why can’t this also apply to my life? Maybe life was not made for me…
Life’s not made, it is… take away a home , a job , a family, what’s left ? The thoughts within… a keyboard and a tumblr waiting for your writing.. a world waiting for your creations … just breathe in — then out, and keep on typing 💜
The resemblance uncanny; her face there in front of me like a mirror of my first love, the Sheila I once bedded, the jaws of the past here unveiled. The Lyra Silver-tongued, grasping, pulling at my heart string, as I search for the coordinates to the temple of stow, to the junction of departure, and the pool so cold
Farewell my dove / my rusty scythe in your trembling moonlight / rustic charm against innocent skin / the gentle strokes down the feathers / down the residual tensions until … / you snap / you crack / you waver / farewell my dove / farewell
