Press

The woman’s got a switch in her head

And when she wants you dead

She reaches down

Slow cat stretch

Invisible intent

Almost like

Flicking lint

And

Presses

The

Switch

Advertisements

Make whole

Temporary

Wrists turned 30 degrees

Pushing wharped wood

Make whole

That which has retained

Only a faint salt outline

Your chin lowered

Hand curled

Scarred table top

A drink

Coarsing liquid fire

Tremolously their bones

Knit in shape

Prepared for

The buried beckon

Of sleep

Between

Good day then

fais de beaux rêves

between the spectacle

shut your eyes tight

always keep them open

conviction

affliction

conducting weather veins

bristling they ebb

pointing into heavens

would they could talk

up there up there

they look and mock our drama

what we believe ourselves to be

quietly observant at the pew

head down knees knocking

Forgive me Father for I have sinned

the day I turned on others and rubbed in

the same welt

gory and open for flies

to lay their magnitude

little children

little liars

come hold hands by the roses

learn a thorn can prick but words are mightier

wielding penchant for harm

like a crystal ball

hear the soft foot fall of night

clothe us in redeeming disguise

fingers behind our backs twix crossed

one for ourselves, one for luck

nothing left to add to the stew

all poison all venom all malice is

but easy fitting shoes on lusty urge

stay your hand my girl

spend time among the rich of heart

they hold less in their pockets

more in their eyes

as first rays of morning

broker subsuming clouds

of darkness

breaking past

releasing

light

Quiet sincerity

I learned

long after I should

friendship comes not

in fizz and pour

nor the brightness of

shower and radiance

nor promise and its papery craft of bows

but more often unexpected slow

hesitant over years

water leaving her tears on

marble rock

stalwart and less demonstrative

a cat who watches food put out

does not immediately approach

I fell for the fireworks

the hot kiss on lost ego

glittering words

feathered protests to believe

those party animals in their tinsel crowns

pushing me toward celebration

in those days I did not mind

the quiet soul who hung back

someone you could call upon

when deserters ran out of festivity

turned their backs on former animation

I was suckered by their demands to believe

their loudest call was truth, hear me!

now I know quiet love is the steadiest

those who may seem cold or aloof

often outlast town crier

hawking themselves for fancy

I’m sorry it took me so long to

understand silence and softness

are more often truth

much like the piper who

sung children through the mountain

bewitching their longing for loud

merriment

before they grew and knew

the sweetness of sincerity

whispered

Cast in open mouth

Fickle her words

imprecise

imperfect

slices of lemon

squeezed on cuts

cast in open mouth

let the plaster envelop

emotion

I suppose it’s her need

to inflict harm

when her own heart devours

when lust points compass

and mercy

mercy does not show

for role count

instead choosing

to sit out turn

bashing heels against

old radiators

trying to keep warm

this is the danger of

sore hearts

seeking solace

in the unknown

corridor of others

tempered souls

watchful against

storm

Flat hands pushing

They predicted

she would write down

the scar

since healing

was slow

words conveying

that breakage

They predicted

she would condemn

the ones who made the thirteen turns

in hangman’s noose

and pushing lightly

watched her fall like dandelion seed

catching heavy air

she was predictable

and not the one they knew

but some amalgam of all they had hated

in their little boxes of life

laid without opening on red shelf

she who carried her shoes

when stepping through

knew there were times words

could not save

could not banish

the cruelty of flat hands

pushing

Winding a clock

Whom ever first penned

the idea coldness was strength

and weakness came when we

trusted and let others in

must have known the curve of the knife

those disposed to violence

carry in their mouth

just incase a moment

should present itself

and licking their lips

wide

they conquer and divide

our feeble entreaty

just leave us be

on the wet coil

perhaps our world measures

guts and glory

on how much blood

remains

when after battle they come

to count the fallen

and it is always your dearest

the one who came closest

the one who said I will never

remove you from warmth

who sharpens that knife

and turns it like

winding a clock

makes it tick

reluctantly

ahead

Imperfect glass

Time

did I mention you have run out?

and the dye on my head turning me another color

will not rinse

we change ourselves

we re-make ourselves

we are the same within

striving always through infernal din

to measure our worth

against imperfect glass

Death

Strange faced girl sits in her pew

itching wool tights with Bible corner

whilst Mormon’s console Jehovah’s

witnessing their profit in the funeral

business

all along she hadn’t believed

people could turn to wax effigy

the poor man in his pine coffin knew

formaldehyde truths

his children driving home

instead of toys throw words

of anger and resentment

she had always wanted siblings but now

in her black faux expensive dress

less couture than ransacked bargain store

she wasn’t so sure

how the language of the world made sense

if God laughed at those who pretended

to repent

or God was a lizard drinking from brown bottles

one block down from the mockery

of death

 

Behold her

Never before

the ordinary older woman

so resplendent and shining

her grief edging unbeknown

like soft light

casting favored hue

her cheekbones as rounded as

tears and regret

he could not see for he was dead

their love flickering snapshots of life

played overhead

the projector whirred

audience stirring like one

slow sadness

confined in separate outfits

of grief

she was a fruit laid bare on table

see me she said

without moving her lips

or crossing her feet

and one shake

just slight and momentary

gave away

the abyss of her loss

such beauty in her then

bending over his coffin

would that he could

open his eyes just

once more

and behold her