Slats 4.30

Lately I have only been composed of late nights.
Porches scattered with people being and learning amidst gusts of wind
We are vast. We breathe air made for us, silent tribute to vitality.
Moons awaken us asunder and we ebb and flow in pieces.

So scared are we, sitting amongst branches and concrete and laughter
Passing spirit in smoke, giving what we cannot take.
We slip slow and steady here, for time asks no questions
Sky falls to shadow, but we are not for Day, not now.

Rain sprinkles like wine on our hands and feet and we scream.
We drink what Night has to offer us, sipping frozen hope
Ours is many and one together, rolled up in paper thin destiny.
And we know nothing other than this, trying to be who we are.

Greyined

the moon opens and there is thunder in my gut.
"speak to me, goddess", but there are no words.
I weep for things unseen.
Lost. I am a fog, misted across wisps of smoke
twisted sacrament, blistering.
 I turn and take and pour and scream
I am still whole.
the ground taunts me with closeness and wind weaves through my fingers
I reach for her to take my skin and make me silver.

This is the game we play: vangrants cast
sovereign states pushed near by wounds and time
destined for places yet seen.
we are One, gathered here in secret.

To the Earth's Child:

I know what you are by what you see

leaves tanlged into strands of twisting wind

and you see sunsets, dirt-turned-gold

destruction gilded, glittered, gone

we are all and we soon return.

broken wood sits like a splintered crown

atop a turned head; I trust in things blinded and I trust in you.

and what a beautiful you: molded by gusts of feeling and rays of light

shifting, turning, changing, being amidst those static slips.

endure for us when we have wilted

when we've forgotten, tell us of our shape.

Tufts

And I know forgetting's easy
picking slim along side roads and alleys
let memory slide, let it fade
into sloppy tumbles of weeds and grass.
but pick me up; there is no thorn too sharp
to prick you into red-white feeling
reminded of you, slow steeped into strands
skipped over on the loom.
overhead sky kneaded rough by steamy breath
136 bodies nestled into branches, reaching
making shapes you made once
when you knew to be what you could.
I have half a spine to tell you
"it is lost, it is new"
but words whispered on wind make sounds like the sea
the sea never remembers what she washes clean
you, tear-stained and salt dried
on the banks beneath the ground.

Scathed

No songs were sung when you were born.
I looked into your filmy eyes and felt no change
Of heart. and Souls above danced high, no blessings down for you
You wiggled tiny hands and beat at wind.
I held you nonetheless and pressed you to my chest
Tried to absorb you into what was me, once.
I look at you know and wish I had knew you then
Really knew you when you first entered the world.
As everything is new, sharp and blurred at once
Fuzzy outlines making solid scrapes on your new skin.
Milky body illuminated one time among many.

Later, you became the apology I could never bring myself to say aloud
So I whispered it to you. You grew with "I'm sorry" written into your skin
And slashed across your face, and I hated you for tethering me here.
Unbeknownst to you, I was a fly amongst a sea
And meant for things transcended, things past the plane.
I want to press flowers to your nose and into your mouth
Until you cease, and I cease myself.

Switchblades

I always want to write when I feel inadequate or frustrated or lonely
but I'm not sure if it's because it helps or if thats what I've been trained to do
I scratch at paper. ink beads like blood.
and I don't feel any better.
I mean eventually I get over whatever made me mad in the first place, but wasn't that inevitable?
what am I doing?
documenting my twisted little feelings into something more tangible?
I don't think I am made to last here.
I don't think I have the stuff.
I want to go home. I don't even know where that is.
so I stay.
patch up holes where I can, mend bridges I set fire to.
and I don't feel any better.
if I had to describe how I feel right now it'd probably be cracked or bruised or something
something that says  I have some distant awareness of nothing I feel ever really being permanent.
I feel broken all the same.
same to you I'd like to cry.
I know that's some sort of catharsis, maybe after I'll know how to move my feet like I knew how all along
like maybe I had too much traction.
my cheeks are dry. and I am still cracked or bruised or something.
I wish I had someone to take up all my mantles
to catch all my torch passes
I probably do, I'm just too lazy to try
not too lazy to type
and I don't feel any better.

Wind

I ran on dirt roads and eggshells to get to you.
Fix me, I said, Awakened.
You are the eastern sun
Torn from grass and gems
Backwards praise from gods unseen.
Rise up, and take me with you to someplace without shadow
Leave empty behind. Torn up.

Glass mixes with diamond flakes, taunting
We will know better than to cloud our eyes with beauty.

There are wings stuck to my bones and I don't know how to open them
I want to be cut open, they pick at the waste I've made.