annihilation

there is nothing, the airless cold space between
particles of soil
unbearable
and then there is sorrow
deep, warm, coffin lining
unbearable
i am a corpse
i am content this way but for you
the carapaces of beetles are strewn around our house
so full and so empty like a cobwebbed window
am i poetry in your head?
would you know how to tell me?
this is not a language you speak
the tears i shed are yours
you are my skin and i envy the solitude of skeletons
and then i shiver
it’s too much, and it’s not
like knives, but bruises
though i cannot remember the blooming
what beautiful things do i have to offer you?
what left, what found
let me lie in the chill of the earth in the morning
my bones are weary
let them lie

insufferable

I have been a mirror for far too long
Propping myself up, angling, contorting
To ensure that what they see is the proper ghost or glimmer
I have been a basket brimming with bread and fish
A nervous miracle wrought and indebted
Depleted in a quest to satisfy the omnihungry
Worst of all, I have been a self
Self-contained by a fully permeable membrane
Glossing over other's organelles with my thin, unmixed varnish and calling them mine
I have been a pitiful navigator, fretting over what cannot be
Included within the bounds of my single-sheet record
Before I have even bothered to map the interior
The warm forest expanse that holds it all centered
I must start, stop, struggle
Light every candle even as they flicker dark
Push through and past the mist while filling my lungs with it
I may not lash myself to this ship no matter how promising
I have done this before, and been taken over the wrong horizon
No, for now, thin and weak
I must cast myself into the midst of black water and swim

i can tell you how the story goes

you pity the wolf with paw in iron jaws
you weep for the bird in wire cage
but who pines for you, rabbit?

your body bound in the formless
vines of sloth, ache, gluttony, sleeps
not in peace, but in catatonia
surfacing once in a great while with
a new hitch, a fresh fester, like a
lake-leached corpse

your mind is a rotting log,
smothered in cobwebs, melting into
the merciless damp
no footing may be found here
no brooding creature would pick this place
to nurse its vital, squeaking young,
the stagnant air would suffocate them all

and your heart--your heart,
that soft and green thing started
from humble acorn
the mighty seedling that hugged
the soil and drank the heat from gracious sun
that embodiment of eternal hope that
reaches always blindly upward
knowing trusting there is space for
it to go and go and go
is wilting
you have choked it with creepers
of doubt and fear and selfishness
you have tugged its trunk into a twisted
remnant of its former promise

who pines for you, rabbit?
who pities you in this prison you made for yourself, lock and all?

slip the vines.
sink the corpse.
tear open the log, rip off the weight
of everything that burdens you, and
what you cannot loose
you must carry
and you must run
and while you may stumble in the mud
struggle over the stream
you will come, breathless and beating,
to a meadow that sleeps under the sky
you will climb the hill with your
burdens light as ticks
you will make home
beneath the growing roots of an oak
and you will be free in your wholeness

straight up i did not do any of this

I'm going to write you letters
It will be the first secret I've ever kept
Nothing sordid, only
I think I might be able to find myself
In words I cannot say to you
And when I have said them all, perhaps
I will black some of them out and make poetry

fish > people

people are like fishhooks
they catch in your skin
it is awkward, for a moment
then comfortable, being connected to something
having outside yourself
being wanted
then all at once, the ripping
and so much flesh goes with it

may the rain wash this away

I wonder if you feel a measure of blame
Towards me
For quietly, abruptly,
Writing an end to that story.
We made this bed
But I lay down first.
I chose him--
So cliche, as though there was a choice to begin with
(There was, there always is)
--Of course I did.
I had to.
I am that choice.
But since snuggling into that den we made together, alone
I find I have been carving off pieces of myself
And tucking them away for you
To present in a future that may (will, can, should) not be.
No. 
I cannot
Should not
And there is the struggle that plagues.
Me, if not you
I wouldn't know. 
What I have learned: 
Just because you want
Does not mean you deserve
Does not mean you can
Does not mean you get.
I liked myself in that story
Though it was not the kindest
Purest
Goodest
Self I have ever been
But it felt like bliss
And for that I do penance.

not a haiku

you spoke to me in poetry
for that, fuck you
and thank you

this is not a poem this is stupid

Last night I did a spell to find the words to say to you

To fix this liminality, not the thrilling kind, the kind of slow death

Even as I watched the candles burn down, I felt the answer was silence

That the words I needed were empty air

And this morning I understand

I see how I cannot wake with him and walk with you

I see how you have frozen me out in the dying heat of August because it’s what I asked of you

I see how incapable I am of choosing what fades

Sometimes things just die

Sometimes they will return in new shapes

Sometimes the fight for survival is merely a beating

Tonight I will cast another spell

I will burn thread and whisper a prayer I penned myself

I will let me go in the wavering light of the first sliver of fresh moon

I will let you go too late, as always

I hope you can forgive me

I hope you find a place of peace that spares you much more suffering

I hope somewhere there is one for me