-stubborn, like a child, fist balled up the high pitch growing deep in the throat knees scathed blood forming into scab tears welling, falling resolve unaffected breath choked, chambers crumbling the soul scarred, eyes focused, still-the dream
-It comes on its own, fills the chambers of life with a flurry of thought, an image taken, reshaped, stretched and reconfigured… syllables sweeping across the mind, an echo, a wind – the same sound… a yearning which wakes you in the middle of night arousing the physical apparatus, which contains the heart, to stretch and reach for a body, a soul, a beating heart- beating with your own… the lingering of scent, the ethereal presence carried by the breeze, in the morning dew, the presence left when there is no presence—what you hold onto until the return of the […]
-I sink in. Into her warmth. I want to melt into her, melt with her; even as she pushes away. There’s a distance and it grows and reverts to its meager state at gestation, the obstacle that eclipses the heart. It has its own phases, like the moon. A cycle of waxing and waning. When she pushes away, there is nothing left, but to let your eyes glisten and wait expectantly, as the werewolf-kin does the lighting of the full moon, the apogee, the swelling of a heart. That swelling which releases the warmth. That warmth which emanates from deep […]
-I let go counting the prints left by time in its passing
-The darkened horizon the obscured view the act of clarity vanishing Opaque clouds besiege the sky as vision stumbles, stolen in the cold wind chill of night.
-The soul aches like a broken wing Salt scatters like ash with diminished return Promises break, the rupture of a heart Breath fades as lungs struggle
-The remnants of breath, hollowed passages of dust. Sediment remains, enough to form ash.
– And there’s an embrace, as if meaning were translated into simple action. An embrace, as if it could make amends for all wrongs perpetrated. A silly thought, but also a common one. So there’s the embrace and arms wrap themselves around the other. There’s a warmth and it can hide truth, it can hide clarity and pretend sincerity. A layering of kisses follows, one after the other, like pecks meant to undo the hurt that translates itself into the dried salt that remains after. The problem is, with each collision of lips, instead of peeling away the scar’s covered […]
– The gentle breeze of the spring morning nudges against the blinds. They vibrate, a staccato rhythm in the dim light breaking over the horizon. I wake, the temperature of mist frozen on my body. There’s blood on the pillow, the one propped under my upper torso. My heart is torn and my eyes strained. Breath makes me quiver with my own staccato rhythm. It has been said love and pain are the same emotion. The difference, the magnitude. This explains why, when you love someone an impossible amount, and you hold them close, there’s a wailing in the heart […]
-Somewhere near the 37th parallel north, and a hundred and twenty seven degrees east, there is a mountain from which the chants of monks can be heard. To get there, one must walk along a solitary stretch of road, along a ditch. In the cold dry wind of spring, not a sound, other than the scratching, each footfall, digging at the dirt road, pebbles scattering under the weight. Somewhere on that mountain is a path that leads to a cliff, peace inscribed on the mountain’s side in stone, an image, immovable. Each step must be overcome, upward, along the ledge […]