Consequence

The consummation of
                    sorrow & regret
of impulse & blind intent,
the attempt
            to escape
makes the mistake
of believing that things we leave behind
will somehow change
or else disappear completely
when finally we
                        return:

the
    gentle susurration
of bad-faith held
to itself & nothing else,
excuses
running too thin;

the hideous birth
                of conjoined twins,
who want only to be loved,
& are as beautiful
as they are ugly,
                            just like us.

Either/Or

These trees swaying
                    in the wind; whispered
strange communication between
the unseen,
            green
above & soil beneath; a gift given
from one to the other, not
simply objects but
                their shadows;

the echo
        of absence within presence.

The weight
        of silence
behind words that define us, thoughts
now flowing forward surround us
like pollen, like fallen
seeds:

a vast symmetry of blossoming energy.

We speak of the life we had, of
                                the one we now have &
those we still want all
suspended at once.

One choice must destroy the others
& yet
in this moment
the scent
of each other
            as it lingers
upon us
        is all
              that matters,

& the rest
cannot be expressed…
 

Derangement

I’ve felt the soft surface of temporal fabric,
watched the world begin to fold
small then
             smaller    &
            smaller…

                        seen
organic origami elide
            into water,
rearing over what remained of
what was no longer me.

After
electrical screams;

nameless incandescence
& sound waves of colour,

cold feathers began folding down,
                                down,
                                    down.
Inside
nothing remained but space & light,
a deep divide
between body & mind,
                    a
quick flicker of panic
as all thought plunged into ice…

then it didn’t matter whether
I lived or died,
                    what I
try to write
                    or if I
write
nothing
at all.

 

Persevere

“…poetry makes nothing happen” -W.H. Auden

For J

A wish to kiss your eyelids &
                            lift
the heavy weight of images
hidden beneath,
                torturing you.

Guillotine quick & clean
the blade
         glistening
in the most golden morning light
we’ve ever seen in our lives,
nothing but beauty would survive;

                                 but
light without darkness means nothing,
so maybe joy needs suffering.

Is there even any memory you
would want to lose?

Regardless, this
                poem is impotent
& yet still it persists:

the wish
to take those heavy images
& leave you only with those that help you

to persevere.

 

 

Memory

For S

The weight of the rain cripples the name
of a person in a place
you swore never to forget or
                             let the silence
& the songs & the long moments
of hands twisting time with bodies
entwined in nights we wish would never die,
            dissapear:

yet all things must eventually fade away

but time hasn’t taken us yet & so
                            there’s no reason
to forget everything even as we
let go of what once was.

Some nights we cannot see the Moon,
but during others it’s
                       dignified light
repeats the silver nights
precluding the golden mornings
bathing, deluded
& content.

“on peut pas vivre d’amour et d’eau fraich”

Remember?