you are

the tide

that drags

me

down,

you spit me

out upside

round,

you haul

and pull

and push

me in,

and then

you let me

spin

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Dragon Bite

the moon swallowed by

the dragon maw of cloud you

closed your eyes and sank

the lonely stars tonight

no stars only the

bright moon through fast flying rags

of cloud and dark sky

my collection of lepidoptera #2

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.

 

my collection of lepidoptera

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.

Ghost echo

You are:

eerie

resounding

sound,

real unreal.

Dusk and

full shadow,

seen unseen.

A suddenly

certain

uncertainty.

The ghost

in

my head.

 

will she find respite?

she

loses

misplaces

finds

invents.

all

her

words.

they

were

buried

somewhere

beneath

this

clumsy

shedding

of

her

skin.

beneath

this

in

sis

tent

pulse.

beneath

this

et

er

nal

eve

rlas

ting

din.

my esc[apology] realised

for a time

i thought

that

i could

contain

myself,

saw success in

a neat

magical binding

with chain

and

with lock

and  with cage.

 i

took this cage.

Submerged it.

Plunged it into

water

and depth

and darkness…

Turns

out that

I am

an escape artist,

a Houdini like

tendency

for unpicking

dissembling

the knots

–

 allononelongbreath

roomfornomorenow

–

rising

from

the supposed

dead.

all day

all day.

she talked to

no one.

oh yes,

her mouth surely opened

and closed.

Fish like.

And the words

came out-

but they were,

after all,

just words.

Her vocal chords working

just the way they

should.

making sounds making words making sounds

making words making sounds

 really –

just sounds.

all day.

all around her

people doing the same thing.

all day.

she watches

their mouths their lips

their tongues their teeth

move

sounds more sounds

words less words.

all day.

mountain climbing

and maybe I

found a valley

that could have

been

contentment.

but the sides

were

so deep

so high

so precariously

tooth edged angular,

circled in,

they were sure to

bite me.

I chose to follow

the cowardly ridge.

Now I am marooned

on the sharp

spur of

indecision

and eventual

cliff fall

end.