Monday, February 14, 2011

I have been holding back... (and I will edit later)

But today,
small snippets of September
are filling my wet
mid-February chambers
the heart is a pumping slide show
of sharp ampersands & sunny apologies.

Iron lung poem
The words hit me full force
like the breath charging from a legion of iron lungs.
Replication of breath needs tension and pressure
& the sensibilities of a goddamn submarine.
our lungs are not simply coffins for re-animated words
this poem is not a resurrection.
However it is sometimes alright
to press our bodies into the iron lung;
feel the weight of and interaction pumped out.
Sometimes you must pull the gears from your pockets,
make your mouth and open slab
ready for the prompts
that breathe down the necks of strangers,
gray & rasping.

Skeletons and Freewrites
Your bones are not bones when they no longer hold you up
and when I am with you my skin becomes defective
I am not thinking about you tonight
and I refuse the hot red sky scrapings
it is nearing the winter's midnight
and February has gravel in its teeth
& I don't know what your face means.
This season has an eyesore locked in the broom closet
and together we are slashing words in half
gnarling each fingernail by clawing wholesale at a churning universe.
if you are not here then you deserve to fall into the absurd
keeping the company of pastel tongues and overweight scrap-bookers.
Did you know the sky has a mouth like a sailor
tattoos hurtling from a broken horizon
the oil needles in and makes the most of potholes
and I am searching for a way to graft my bicycle to my body
because my bones are sometimes not my bones anymore
and I need something moving to keep hold my body up
to keep me together as I hurtle across the cracked pavement.

Non-Euclidean Regrets
Too much dry confusion
icy nights cough up dust & dandruff
my skin is allergic to apologies
regrets are best scratched off,
like the scabs sharpening your elbows.

The novelty sharpens and drops repeatedly
like falling through a never ending staircase.
My geometry has no shapes for what's been done to me
a name can be the shape of heartache
and the memories are being converted into two-dimensional tumors.

My dreams are becoming an amalgam of empty street cars and dust.
The light is bending too far
as time topples over
into a premature healing.
I am breaking the past into digestible pieces
and forging gears from the jagged edges
I can't stay here without you
I need the movements to keep me alive.
I've nestled the jewels in all the right sockets
& I've got the springs under control.
I'm passing you by
barely an inch from the whiskers
eating up the time without you
each tick takes me into the sweet distance.

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