Accidental Burial at Sea

I lower cased until I CAPSIZED
Adrift and split
Eyes narrowing
It drank me like tea at sunrise
Abyssmal kiss
I stared too long and fell in
And whole!; descending…
The ephemeral throat could gargle me
Salt sterile
We’ll find out which beastly fish are feral
I’m a feast of goo
Scraping the floors of liquid limbo
Sway dancing in my gelatinous ignorance
Dismantling one bite at a time
Just like all my days before
But now,
I’m already gone and don’t care
This is the last meal

Give me coral reef ribs
And lurking crabs in my skull
I give thanks to
The pall-bearing aqua layers
That buried me soft
And the pinhole of light;
My last sight
When I made peace
With the deep

Advertisements
Published in: on January 12, 2019 at 12:50 am  Comments (2)  
Tags: , , , ,

Given Up

That Saturday morning Dad went to rest
forever on his old bed
and that old mattress,
I was in the kitchen
cleaning the waffle iron.
It wasn’t as much a mess
As I was when I learned too late
He’d Gone

The heat of the Tucson sun
blasted through the dining window
scattering to the walls from the chandelier
turning the room into a frightening scene
of fleeing spirits rising
like lava lamp ghosts,
invisibly higher
and I wondered if the sun
could just be a crystal in
a bigger chandelier;
another light source behind it.

I cried in the closet that day
with the Samurai sword, old leather jacket,
boxing glove, and bowling ball.
The grief took me too hard
to realize that I now had to find homes
for all these orphaned possessions,
But not hard enough to realize
I would never find
home for myself again.

Published in: on December 13, 2015 at 1:39 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , ,

I am a paler blue than you are used to

I am a paler blue than you are used to
I am milk from the breast
The blind man’s eye
The morning sky
 
 
I am a paler pink and it’s not like you think
I am the dead man’s skin
The winter cheek
Wheezing life, oblique
 
 
I am twisted spine wrapped in barbed wire and twine
The clink on dinner glass
The old barn in the wind
Weakened, thin
 
I’m a softer gray than I was yesterday
I am the abandoned school’s window
The late autumn fog
The belly-up pollywog
 
 
Trapped beneath ice
I am a horrid last gasp
The precipice teetering boulder
The secret the dying man told her
 
 
I am all that fizzles
The last millimeter of wick
I am the faint sound of haunting
That is actually nothing blowing in the wind
 
 
I am the last straw the cow devours
In a land of famine
Digested four times before
The final feast is never more
 
 
I am the fraying shroud
on the cold slab
the scratching dry quill
the unfinished words of the will
 
 
I am the ruins
behind the undergrowth
I am the ship on the ocean floor
a splinter on death’s door
 
 
I am a palor of green
A mold on the cheese
I am the child that floats
the hanged man’s throat
 
 
I am a gutter of leaves
after four months of rain
I am slime
I block the drain
 
 
I am ash on a bonnet
the clay on work boots
I am the broken ax
the recipient of forty whacks
 
 
I am all that decays
I am all that stops shining
I am all of the hues
of adieu
Published in: on October 9, 2013 at 2:00 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Our Lives are Unfolding

Our lives are unfolding
Like origami

Creases are undone
We are returning to
Simple paper
With marks that show
We were once beautiful cranes,
Fancy napkins,
Cootie catcher fortune tellers.

In the end, we are all the same.
Squares of paper, blank slates
Mere cloth on laps
Open maps

After one bad bend, turn and smooth
There is a groove that beckons all future moves
Actions that make wrinkles,
Our mistakes, lines in our palms
Spelling longevity or brevity.

Our lives are unfolding
Like picnic quilts

Snapped open
And drifted to ground like fall leaf parachutes
We find a simpler time
To be alive
gleaming and gnawing
On rinds and bones
In an open space far from home

In the end, we are all the same.
Patchwork patterns
Loose stitches
Laced by ancestry,
A beautiful barrier from feeling the earth
And a tool for getting fresh air

Our lives are unfolding
Like old love letters found in hope chests,
A careful dumping of heart-wrought ink
That eventually fills us with longing or grief
Such simple paper
That echoes in the halls of memory

In the end, it is all the same
We fold back up,
envelope ourselves in long cedar boxes,
Mere parchment etched with
Sequestered confessions
Our crow’s feet biographies and laugh lines
Denied light or wistful gaze
Forever tucked away.

Published in: on January 17, 2013 at 10:09 pm  Comments (3)  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Octopussy

I’d swim right down in
to your inky den
and let every writhing tentacle in
nevermind the oxygen
 
It’s time to get literal
The lighthouse lit the littoral
and aquatic path for clittoral
lapping octet limbs so visceral
 
Knots I’ve swam for that naughty, nautical nymph
and sank below the dismal depths
He takes me and each lack of breath 
ravages me with enzymes till nothing’s left
 
It’s getting graphic, oceanographic
preferring the aquatic over plastic
pleasures derived from drastic
measures steeped in superficial tactics
 
So, I want to squirm with serpentine squid
them putting in and pulling out again
squeezing air, not there, and then
assimilating my flesh until I meet my end.
 
 
Published in: on June 11, 2012 at 12:47 am  Comments (3)  
Tags: , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: