blank

blank

nothing to celebrate here.

wide open desolate spaces

interchangeable for tundra, 

desert valley or deep ocean floor

raw and barren

nothing to reach for, 

high and beyond the inner

and outer cacophony of misery

where is the dove that flew?

no branch on this olive tree

that stands alone, 

bent and broken 

from the weight of woe

gutted

hollow



hollow like
a reed whistling
from the crosswind
as it roves across the swamp

hollow
hollow like
a china doll
cracked with age and empty
when her chest is tapped

hollow
hollow like
a galaxy empty
of air and noise and wind
no sound in or out

second skin

 

 

 

cicada 

what was once whole,
confined to irreplaceable -
an identity honed 
in the fire of tumult

crumbling carapaces of 
incoherent ramblings
rest about, strewn and
cast aside, like refuse

now, like once bronzed
skin, thin sheets cast off.
end of summer molting,
readying itself for winter

gone are days of sun touched,
wind swept, salt encrusted
moments, bare and brazen
into now she saunters

Bones

 

 

 

 

Bones

I am fascinated with the

idea, texture, lightness,

of cold, dry, bones;

bleached white and clean

bare of all semblance

of what once was,

of what gave them

motion and drive.

emptied of this flesh,

these scaffolds are free 

to shimmer in the sun, 

burnished and bright.

Pale

Pale

an unassimilated life lays out

ghost pale and transparent 

before me, like a specter

i can wave my hand through

so far away i do sit, aside

and askew from the activity

and bustle of those that 

lay claim to me and mine

this calm, it frightens me

oh, to have my heart quicken,

to feel the hair on my arms rise

in response to connection

rather, i sit deep in the pool

of numb quietude,

waiting for someone to

throw me a line

I turned it off today

 

I turned it off today

my addictions to media,
to nicotine and alcohol
are sad little commas,
pauses in my life

i live still and clear
behind facades of 
lonely, inside social.
connected inside alone

i am tired 
of all this and that.
comings and goings
no where to be

in this moment
i decide, yet
i tremble at the
idea of real

the velveteen 
rabbit with carrots
to spare. i crouch
and wait