and the rain spills from the sky to quench our thirst, we choke but we do not drown. rain seeps up from the ground to our ankles, our feet drenched but we cannot move, to our knees and still we cannot move. rain bubbles up above our foreheads, tables move, chairs move, scraps of notes scrawled with something we meant to say to one another. rain floods out the windows, the roof breaks open to the sky, and we stay at the bottom, scrambling for the floor and still we do not drown.
Category Archives: words
out of proportion
you figure yourself out
of one thing and into another, fashion
yourself with gestures, try your new self out
for size. it all seems out of proportion.
you’ve been much too good at this,
fashioning your anger into something
new. drawing blood, drawing on paper, drawing
breath. your son’s fingers clasp at the space
the air makes between your chest
and his lips. your daughter cuts through
the room like a sprite laughing
at a funeral. you figure yourself into her
laughter, squeeze yourself
into his fist. it is all out of proportion.
out of figuring the size of the ball of your fist
to his own, your knuckles turn white, nails dig in
an impression into your palm. your daughter
rushes to a full stop, holds her hair back, bends
to kiss your son. the gesture leaves you
raw, the base of your spine aches,
your son’s limbs come to rest on your ribs.
figuring where to go
next, smoke leaves your mouth
gasping.
hold you still
you cannot unwind longing
or ignore the body
in motion, the movement a pair
of hands make to hold you
still
every word cast
and every word cast from our mouths, be it a stone hurled
through the window of their expectations or a precious gift
to be unwrapped by nervous hands or a spike meant to be driven
through thick skin, travels with momentum, travels and makes things
break, makes things out of thin air, makes the difference
between us and them, between mattering and disappearing
we owe the people that love us, not the other way around
ever since mirror
every time i look in the mirror, for years and years now, since i was a child, since before everything and ever since, i find myself asking,
“and who are you there? who the hell are you?”
as it dawns upon you
as it dawns upon you
the day is gray and
the wind restless and
you’ve disappeared
behind this cloud
of cigarette smoke
and these scars
unattractive beast
you find yourself as an unattractive beast whose lips drag along the dust picking up flecks of skin someone long since gone has left over scratches the legs of a chair make when it is suddenly pitched backwards beneath your spine. nothing has ever been more this figment of your imagination other than the utter words you used as wounds traced over your belly where you wish there were scars sealing the fat you cannot get to. and when your ears pierced widen to the sound of your unease, the hair choking your chest prickles stray yearnings like the night you coughed up more than what you meant to say.
regret and sorry are such useless twins.
my son racks
my son racks the night clear through an ache my father left abandoned in me
pretty blue pieces
tipping over the blue vase your mouth spilled broken flowers with spit petals and thorns shot through my neck hearing it again shatters my hands scattered and swollen seeking the oily purchase of your skin slick with rage but petals in my mouth spill out broken teeth as thorns wash my eyes clean to the watermark on the floor where my hands split open a wooden table like flowers still listening to the crash of your mouth
i plunge my face deep and breathe in all the sharp pretty blue pieces to change everything
three card monte
follow the queen, find the lady
the con man swaps hand over hand
atop a piece of cardboard & a milk crate
shows you where she might be
follow the lady, can you find her
all it takes is a dollar
& the belief that all three cards are only
bent from the abuse of the shuffle
& not the guile
of an expert hand
all this madness over
an indiscretion
of place of who you were in place of