.jpg)
early
vomit chronicles
the
newspaper print
left
everyone’s fingers
a
dusty old photograph
my
sullen eyes have slept little
as I
read lights
at the intersections
when the rag boys hawk noise
to
keep the quiet out
of
the open windows
and
away from the strap bustle streets
the
night keeps inviting me
to
leave any dream I have
in
an easy bake oven
with
its manageable little bulbs
replacing
the Suns
each
time they know the words
I
mouth, are of every electrical desire
they
burn what matters
when
I am walking out of doors
when
I am selling wind
salt
and keys
turning
my head down
into
the crawl of knees
I
look for shoes to walk miles in
I
turn the wheel and focus the cold air
saying
I dare you too
not
to bundle me up
against
my chill
so
fill yourself with longing
in
cave wall ruins
and
I will find
where
the tinder is made
from
the broken pieces of my heart
left
out to dry
I
may never be
more
than an open mouthed cry
I
strike rocks
and
look to bleed
what
I have locked
in
sedentary stone
I
have only known
any
truth that is shown
in
the tiny lightning
of every beginning
I have ever had
this is
where I always hope
to
grow whole again
where
I wish in spittle
and
swish my thirst
from
any bottle I can
my
hand grasped
around
its neck
its
slow tided moment
with
a song
that
goes like this
the
mounted soft rain
is
screaming from my veins
I
am hurting inside
I
am broken
I
am barely alive
no
bees
no
birds
nor
cock fighting jive
I
stay alive by burying myself
where
the light can’t get inside
I
sell myself poison
to
keep my tongue
from
telling the truth
and
every pain pans
a
muddy sluice of clocks
for
something bright and shiny
to
have and to hold and
to
be told the crows
know
the divide is
what
I hide my shallow breaths in
and
is what I hurl morning against
begging
for the cover of night
to
keep pressing heavy
onto
my chest
EJR
©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...