Tell a truth, or tell a lie





To S, for the last time…


Your smile, your
                       skin, your
hair & the soothing evening air,
the city pink as the sun began to
sink.

      All this
& more
now lives
below a gravestone
                            alone;
dreams that breed with soil beneath
the surface:

an afterlife of nights spent with you &
our youth
we so carelessly wasted in
a bright & beautiful display…

I don’t want to visit the grave
very often these days.

Do you?

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…
 

On peut pas vivre d’amour et d’eau fraiche

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,
disappear:

but all things move toward their end,

& yet time hasn’t taken us completely,
so there’s no need
                            to forget

even as we
let go of what once was.

Some nights we cannot see the moon,
but during others its
dignified light
repeats the silver nights
precluding those golden mornings we spent
bathing, deluded
& content.