Archives for posts with tag: my poetry

you see?

i don’t

think our

napkins

are folded

at the

same

table.

 

the why and the how,

the then this now,  north is south.

this compass broken

heat humidity

and i lick the sweat from your brow

humidity heat

she

hears

all his

b  i  g    w i d e   w o r d s.

she

hears

them,

takes them all in,

pares

them

back,

exposes

a

curiously

fine boned

font

beneath.

 

 

my

body

remembers

and

when I

think of you

there is

the keyed up

anticipation

of the

tightly strung

piano wire –

waiting

for the

hammer

to fall,

the

music

to

start

so i

walk

into

this

empty

white

corridor.

It

resounds

with

the emptiness

the squareness

the

multiplication

the

amplification,

the

recurring

emptiness

of

this

world

without

you.

the gu/ilt

framed

weight

of your

expectation –

it

crushes

the

butterfly

bright blue,

the

glint tint

of

these

already

battered

and

wind torn

wings.

my

thoughts

beat as

Quickly as

the Wings of

the not

Quite

Chloroformed

moth

caught

in my

upended

Jar.

there are

some small

brown winged

moths

in this

collection –

seen in

the right

light –

their

Mottled wings

hold a

certain

Incandescence-

an

internal glow-

heavier

than the

ornate

gilded

frames they

have been

placed

pinned

and

hung in.

 

I wake

at 6 am

eyelids

gut

hands

fluttering.

I remember

Now

that your

voice

sounded

as flat

and

Pinned

as the

gold framed

moths

i once

hung

on our

hallway wall.

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