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.
You are:
eerie
resounding
sound,
real unreal.
Dusk and
full shadow,
seen unseen.
A suddenly
certain
uncertainty.
The ghost
in
my head.
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.
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.
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.
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.
i had carefully aligned
and ordered
all the angles
all the lines
in my life,
edge straight edge
straight edge to
straight edge.
the pattern made
comforting sense.
yet,
you have
somehow
come along
and,
so easily,
with
one deft turn of hand,
a flick of fingers,
turned and
tilted all
those borders crazily
against
each other,
chaos breaching
my
self imposed
order.
i watched you stretch
out your hand
and,
as
carelessly
as if it were
a weed,
pluck my heart
from
my chest.
i remember that
you held it
up to the
sun,
seemingly admiring the
red gleam glisten
faint
pulsation
until it
finally stopped.
bright shine viscera
dangled from
your fist
like tendrilled
roots,
my soul
clinging
like mud tied
dirt.
