She was there
then suddenly she wasn’t
taking with her the very air.
She was gone
but my thoughts remained with her
I, the pale-less well ne’er drawn
She is dead
I too have died within her
as well the words never said
I was known
defined by the external
words not spoken but intoned
I was lost
words that were read absently
will the active mind exhaust
I am dead
I, a string tied inside her
found a severed broken thread
Together
set adrift in the abyss
ever lost to the nether.
Standing against the crowd like river rocks
gears whirring in a clock with hands outstretched,
static against motion,
his eyes are loud against deafening stock
herding towards boxes and locks that pay well
sapping their emotions.
The boy is alone swallowed by the swarm
a cold drop in warm water unnoticed
soon enough devoured
falling to the ground prone, beneath the storm
trying to conform, become safe like stone.
I left him there cowered.
I left part of me there as well
both of us settling into hell.
Take absence at an angle.
never mingle sound with sense,
hence your harvest be mangled.
Tangle turse words with expense.
Find fish faster when they drown.
Don’t dive down in disasters,
the masters love cowered clowns.
Town pastors are on the take.
Morning; I stare out the window,
Watching the dawn drenched city grow,
Sharp edges in repose stretch against light,
Wrapped in the wind as it listlessly blows.
My mind; pulled like thread through last night,
Weaving together thoughts in plight,
Suddenly stops; shocked by abstract static;
Two separate acts of will locked in fight.
One; against the wind and frantic,
A fit of limbs lost in panic,
Save for a lit cigarette and its core,
The stick on a spinning plate, all manic.
The other; the same, and no more,
But held still. Down to the last pore.
Perhaps a mime in study, petrified,
Yet- even the wind and smoke would not war.
It was all wrong; “move!” my mind cried,
Could it be time itself had died?
I set my drink down to shout some protest.
As if heard, I watched as their eyes complied.
They pierced; with a twinkle of jest,
Surely, a sparked light to impress,
And the ember core laughed a brighter red,
Stagnant smoke blossoming in the egress.
In that small space; all else seemed dead,
The wind there could not come to head,
Rather it would bend over and around,
As not to touch form or smoke as it fled.
Still; the core burned something profound,
Until that twinkled eye was drowned,
A stream of tears that would not stop once freed.
Poor soul was not frozen, but instead bound.
And then; I felt in me his need,
A ravenous little red seed,
That burned like a cigarette set to fire,
And consumed my mind with an intense greed.
Bring this to end; spoke my desire,
Movement is all that you require.
But was I speaking to them or to me?
How could I ever let this transpire?
I breathe; but my lungs won’t agree,
Nothing inside of me is free,
Until my foot burns hot from dropped coffee.
I scream; look down. Look up. Nothing to see.
Grow Gray With Me 