Breathe

The horizon slits the throat of the morning sun
& we become the mistakes
we filled the night with our complaints

of how your father hit you;
the man who raped you
& your drunken mother.
                               
All I mention is my punishment for carving

“Nature is a whore” onto my desk at school:

My suicide attempts could wait.

Blood spreads across the sky &
we’ve drunk all the wine.

So what do we do now?

Return to the pain & the same
old memories we long since learnt
                                                          to repress?

Or should we press our flesh together
 
laying like cats in the sun;

surrounded by the silence that speaks from the trees

 

& breathe?

Heart Rat

Your heart rat escaped the ribcage

                                                        trap

too late to save its brain:

 

they peeled back the skin, broke the skull beneath

to search for what cannot be found.

 

Line after line we try

to shed our shroud of lies.

I aim too high,

                            afraid

not of hights but the oubliette

where words forget to hide our fear,

 

& then the poem disappears

                                                         when

you tell me how you held her in your hands

as she died.

 

Your heart rat was one of the lucky ones:

 

She was loved,

not experimented on.

 

If only

              we could all be so lucky…

 

 

Janus

The Janus face spits as a knife
penetrates just beneath the ribs,
drags a deep diagonal from
heart to liver,
& the organs slither
                    onto the floor:

Tasseography as grotesquerie;
desecrating rivers of gold,
watching as you piss into the ocean…

You’ve learnt nothing.

Still hiding behind the second person,
still lost in
               the hall of mirrors,
                                oblivious
to the stench left behind;
walking away,
            closing your eyes,
pretending that you’re blind;

that symbolic sacrifice will suffice.

So like a coward
                   you disappear
as penance

& fuck up the last line

                        again.

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…