Intosinister

we come to you in your human beds
pick hands to wipe you clean
foreign concepts float above us, hovering
but we are not governed by the confines of flesh and bone.

what is your mind? fields of useless craving
we try saving you, en caving you
prevented by velvety loyalty, soft sorrow
this is alien to us, we are alien to you, hopelessly breathing.

simply: we must take you. your time is gone
potential and windowless rooms await
there is no discourse between you and fate
we wipe the slate. strip your fecund poise.

teetering now, you shudder. Hear that
sliding slipper-typhoon you trap within
the spirit of you.Coined in mysterious consonants
and you remain ever enshrouded.

come home. you body anew. leave back these worries
do what you were born for and take strength in what you should
these earthly things but weaken you. redouble on doubt like useless frontier lines
we are who you are in the trenches, you survive by naught but breath.

Illuminated

I could compare my feelings to water cased in glass. Swirling and moving against some unseen barrier.  I could say that all I've wanted to do for two years was look you in the eye and be bare, hold truth. Or maybe that I've been trying so hard to keep everything so cool, so chill, non-committal, unattached--that I've forgotten what it could be.

I feel like I'm a scavenger, picking up pieces and riding on coattails. I have broken shards of you lining my pockets, I stick my hands in sharp edges to remind me to feel. And this is what I live on. Gleaning just enough from smiles across hallways, fleeting grazes. Surviving, just barely.

The though of this (you, me, us, we) being forever the way it is makes me sick. It wakes me up when I thought I was awake already, pushing my eyes uncomfortably open.  I want to done, with you, with this. 

I understand what you meant when you said you can't help it. 

You are not the best person I've ever met. I could list every terrible awful thing you've done to my knowledge--I probably have, in fact, in some attempt to regain my sanity. I get words of caution and pitying looks every time I say your name because they know the danger of you.  I know as well: you tumble out of my mouth like sand, like marble and I let it. I let you fill me up beyond my limit and push me. 

I guess this is to remind me of stasis; maybe I'll break something and have to put it back together. I doubt it will be you, nor do I think you'll notice if it was. This is pathetic and sickening. and we are less than human. All I want is to be seen by the right pair of eyes. 

To Be Read, Frantic.

Some combination of nicotine and cannabis and alchohol
Pushes me through the sun to get to you.
I drink my sorrows. Bass beneath the blind
Tip me from that jar of potent brew.

Shaded. Not prideful, no curtains
Kiss me beneath the slide of sweeping fate
Find me so slovenly, stones throw
Scratches hard on water, slate on slate.

I am not made to bend but I curve straight lines for you
Shattered resolved melted into snow
And you are a wall, a mountain, an ocean
Slipping through me, bliss, unsteady flow

I do not want this. I don't want you.
Fickle gazes across brows, cast aside
I can't have you parcelled , appease me with pieces
Warrant me whole to you and I'll abide
.

Take my hand, take my blood, take me and slather
Spread me across your soul til we are one
Weaving passion ascended, holy flight
Sparks of light embedded behind the sun.

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.