“I get hammered, forget you exist / there’s no way I’m forgetting this”*
That city turning pink
in the sun’s slow descent;
the night air still vibrant
yet gentle now
as if
in its old age the day
had finally found a way to be kind
& calm without losing all passion for
the fire
of summer;
your hair, shed like feathers discovered in
my bed,
a mess of tresses untangled
& tangled again:
now all only a memory
of a scent & the slope of your shoulders
at 5 a.m in the morning;
at 5 a.m in the morning;
photographs of long lost days
when we still adored each other,
before the decay became
before the decay became
poison:
the silence, the speech, the years of peace
& warmth
& war
& lies
& tired eyes
& not fucking any more
& bored
so bored
of the performance;
another
dancing monkey
out of sync with the organ grinder;
a comedy without laughter,
a tragedy without despair,
only anger.
All this & more now lives below
a gravestone with no
a gravestone with no
inscription,
as our dream begins to decay
beneath the surface,
where the remains may let new life flourish.
* Scott Huchison
Words for Ghosts 
Your writing style is quite unique and I love the imagery you conjure, it feels very honest and real while also vibrant with how it plays off in the imagination. Beautifully and viscerally penned. ❤
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Reblogged this on johncoyote and commented:
A amazing poem shared by a talented writer.
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Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry. I liked the journey and thoughts shared.
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