I wish the tears would fall
like words do in an argument
dropping fast heavy and hard
releasing the burn and the hurt
the red of all feelings kept hidden
If only there was a way to find
the time (that falls in gains of sand
only to be lost in vats of tar
to be spread on a road
run over by logic and reason)
and place (like the comfort
of large wooden closets
smelling of childhood
with spacious shadows
of memories yet to be had)
where a person could go
to bury and release the things
that one cannot say because sometimes
there are no words to make tears come
and bad feelings don’t go away.
Did you think
sleep would come this easy, my love?
because you were wrong
and I am witness, here, to see,
that even if Mr Sandman were to graciously grab me
the life inside my mind is still intent on
(behind closed eyes)
and so here I am.
Well past midnight
awake. wondering how long
night will take
to taunt till dawn.
There is a well that suddenly dries
and without reason, loses all its wealth into mud.
So, is it jealousy? the cracking of egos? the excuse of never ending love?
that impregnates the ache of worthlessness and leaves questions hanging on a rope
from a ceiling
If all the people in the world were to unite and we held hands to form a human line, eventually would your fingers be linked to mine? Would I be able to feel the touch of skin I used to know so well, that I’ve learned to know better in my memory? And would those images I’ve kept bring back to life everything else that I’ve tried my best to forget? Maybe. And so, for this reason I’ll keep my hands by my side and lift them, only when need be, to wave goodbye. I’ll try.
What does a person miss
from the other side of the world
where it’s not distance
but directions that run
never to touch
I wait to hear the bells ring
to raise the alarm of your life
that is changing
and mine that is here. waiting.
black, red, and white
the colors of life, light, and lies
mixing in pigments of things that don’t make sense
glaring, at a person, with no sight.
Is being cryptic my kryptonite?
Could I wait to see if the words will come to me
in undigested lumps of understanding
that reveal the necessity of verbal vomit
to calm the acidity of curiosity.