Monday, December 28, 2009

Sometimes I want to scream to the sky to make me anew.

Sunday, December 20, 2009


Before the world ends,
Before I scream my final scream
As if the sky were glass
I could bring down upon myself.

Before consequence eats the fettered
Rotting flesh of the heart
And sin spits and licks
Our ashen mouth dry with leathery cracked tongues.

Before this fatherless bastard universe
Collapses down on us
I'll speak the name
You've given to me
In a moan or whisper
You called me Judas or lover.
Then asked
Are they not both the same?

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Oh my God. Don't scream. Don't scream. I know it hurts. don't scream.

Monday, December 14, 2009


I was somebody once
Before these hands
(how old they've become!)
Erased my face from mirrors.

I knew god once
Before a book was shoved down my throat
And I couldn't quiet swallow the words.

I knew what safety was
Before I caught mom crying in the bedroom
And tipped over pill bottles on dads bible.

He is not God
And she is not a saint.

I realized there is not love
Only lying really well.
And we don't cling to 'home' for comfort
Only a blanket to cover our darkest deeds.

We don't speak of what goes on behind closed doors
And the world doesn't see us cry behind photographed eyes.

We grow older but not wiser,
Lost all knowledge behind a glass of innocence.
We can never say with surety what we knew then, . . .
Back when I used to know things.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009


I lost you somewhere between Jesus and the floor boards.
And these thin tissue paper words are just that,
Frail and transparent.
I hold them up to the moon to see their faint shades dancing listlessly
And I wonder vaguely what happened to us.

Was it the light that made us realize we no longer wanted this?
Should we of just continued by candle light and soft perfumes of night flowers?
Turning and speaking love poems on sheets of satin,
No, not that.
Anything but, is what we truly are.

We aren't exotic night birds.
We are simple.
Your ribs are shades of black and white
Devoid of color I trace them
With failing fingers
The truth as solid as news print.
We haven't talked for weeks.
But in this moment there is only me and you
And blue collared cotton
Bleached by moonlight
In a new england farm house
Set alight by noiseless fire.
(So quietly we burn)

We are drifting apart. it is already late.
And I'm wondering
If I should say goodbye
Or make love to you one last time.