Thursday 1/19/2017 11:27:00 PM

nerves presumed dead suddenly erupt in a morose apocalypse.

the bone finds its way to the surface. though the flesh blocks its path. further digging reveals. the holes were always there.

it hurts. she'd almost forgotten the feeling. the lack of power. as it spreads. below the surface. turning that small cut into a wound that burrows much deeper.

the pain lives. mostly dormant, but always there.

the edge whispers. a curious seduction. ripe with rot and panic. a grim combustion of surrender and hope. ignites the truth.

the moments crepe. the angles obtuse.

most people are empty flesh. desperate echoes. lost in the grave hollows of their own loneliness.

1/19/2017 11:12:00 PM

extractions compel the soft tissue to harden. the farther finds itself. splinters sharply emerging from below the skin.

the healing resists at first. languishing in the illusion that there is reason to bleed. the bone finds its way to the surface. burrowing effortlessly through the tender meat.

 the pain chewed and swallowed. the cause a ghost. callously lingering in the scars' depths.

 the cure remains undetermined. the disease still in question. misunderstood. misplaced. used.

 there are no unopened doors. no secret passages. just all the empty rooms we've visited before.

 love pretends. the truth interrupts.

1/12/2017 11:46:00 PM

moving out loud. worms in her skin. the path swallows hard. the cold bites down. on fading connections.

the clouds have their language. the wind has its songs. but distance is always mute.

we leave. because there are places to be. we go because the reason to stay has left.

the book fell open. a throbbing heart full of inked paper. the sunlight teasing it as it struggled to breathe. with lungs made of trembling adjectives.

the dust flirted with the window pane. her body more paper than skin.

the alarm sounded, but there was no rescue. just the same old thieves. taking what had always been theirs.

Monday 1/09/2017 12:00:00 AM

yellow dolls. more fracture than crutch. we heal the same as we live. fumbling with the things that hurt us. hopelessly trying to manipulate our wounds.

small knives picking at the freshest of our scabs.

the deep water seldom moves. everything happens on the surface. where we touch. where we feel. where we are broken.

the soft hull of the darkness readily shedding our expectations. a disease to be cured. a fractured stick figure.  limp against the remains of an impotent flood.

too many colors. like empty gloves missing their fists. too many clocks. keeping track of the time that's forgetting us.

i've never mastered the angles, but i still remember the math. the suffocation of the slope. the temptation of the stab. how rich the fresh cut. how nervous the bandage.

it wasn't a choice. it just happened. a thunderstorm easily devouring the sun. it pretends to leave. though it never does. bruises too deeply embedded.

Wednesday 1/04/2017 12:00:00 AM

the rain shifted. from careless to damp. the world ending in stumbles and stares.

spent skins. gloating on the preposterous alibis of cowardly hearts.

little lies. to manufacture the impossible happiness of powerless men.

as if there is a door to go through. or a place to find. that could negotiate with this  indifferent universe. or justify our selfihsness.

it's nothing. it's everything. what i want melting. like random icicles clinging to life's parenthesis.

bruised fists beating the wind. no blood anymore. just the diminishing ache. the music fading. as the song finds its finish.

it was a comfort. for a while. it was a burden too. trying so hard to see the other side of the glass. all those reflections getting in the way.

it was static. the choices all venom. the questions all fangs. the poison. the numbness all too willing to spread.

proximity's crude equations.  wearing the worst of our awkward arithmetic. hope swelling like an infection from inside persistent wounds.

Sunday 1/01/2017 11:49:00 PM

how frail i was. in the depths of my want. how near the surface slipped. though still i was drowned.

she screamed at the deaf flame. suffocating in every word. patiently waiting for it to hear. all the things she'd never said.

i can't pretend to know the measures of intimacy. nor the weight of their promises.

how foolish i was. in the throes of my weakness. how callously gravity pulled. on those loose bridges.

what could i know that i hadn't. what new pain could i sample.

mouth open wide. lapping ravenously at the poison.

she wore the corners. every angle sharper than she had imagined. she took pictures. finding her place in the desolation.

she argued with gravity. a thief. without anything left to steal.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.