Squat

This nebulous caress sits squat and shade, between the fade and different rhythm. Under broken hands fold, untold as certain spots still stain, tracked down the line and rain or shine.

All collect to meet them on stares and stares and fit to be tied, selected to be seen. Middled by now and been and here comes the rain again…and the shine.

As clouds, we leave, on stairs.

Wax

Such creatures are these, disguised in masks of melted wax. As far as feathers fray, these beasts we speak of, these beasts. With backs as wrenched as seven days, they crawl and die on covered tracks, with eyes as sharp as heaven’s gaze.

Rise

Secret away and scrape a depth, inched to ash and hidden night. Sealed tight to suffocate what’s kept and clawed, tucked. A terrible thing, this tearable thing.  This black fills where breath would fit, dissolved from mist and tattered rags.  And each grain contains a thousand more until it disappears. And each moon remains a thousand days until it fades away.

Bubble

As words lose weight and sink to silt. As sleeping fish won’t swim with you, resigned to waves of different form. As sentence strung with last breath slipped. As lips turn blue and eyes fall still.

The bubble falls, too cold to care.

Turn

It sits in still, not quite waiting. More like something else than knotted nerves and verse’s twist. Far away a wave breaks in crest.  Seems like the tide has turned, over and out, rolled up to rest in puddles and pools.

d r i p p i n g

The want has become even odder, two halves split to be tied and bound…for distant courses. Mapped out on ripples spread from here to somewhere beyond the seen.

Sometimes a single grain is all it takes, when in fact and fiction it wants them all.

Beyond

Beyond the sifted ash of your wildest dreams, that’s where these beasts sleep sound. Snarling huffs and tired groans drip from teeth unclenched, as waves keep pace and moons fall in and out of tune. Rolled upon warm swells, steeped in swaying blades, huddled against the cool chill of your breath.

Dead

This is where my words come to die, sneaking out between your sighs and held high above your lowered head. A thousand things to consider, crashed and breaking in the slowest dim, captured by my tired eyes but gone like ghosts get gone when lights hit back, reflecting dawn.

I will bury them with my breath, dropped to sink beneath this subtext.

Sing

At night, when dreams sing behind your eyes. Is that the answer I was looking for? Sneaking around these waves, curled up to beat the shore. Shuffled and shut against the light, still caught up and kept, try as I might.

Strings

Fire falls like ash, floating from his fingers. Cut strings reconnect and rip taut, tense and pulled, against his will. Something from the sun slips out, breaking cloud’s cover and shivering doom down upon them. A thousand sighs lift mist to match his laugh, as Curse collects, as something else moves between this dream.

Swell

A million tiny
clouds keep perch around the bell.
Waiting for the swell.

Hem

Each blade can cut and
reach for him. Quiet and low
above your ripped hem.

Hold

The moon shines up black
and blue behind the morning.
Still holding never.

Wake

I’ve been to your grave and felt the rain beat down as your plot thickens. Standing on the edge of this forever, dripping down to flower and branch, almost untangling the knots between your sliding walls. A box of bones and skin that crawls. Fingers dig, scraped, as I am collecting dust, caught in your wake.