Monthly Archives: February 2017

VICTIMS

The rushing breaking numbs my skin
Each tender flood-thought pouring in
I need to sleep and let my eyes down
Close the weeping, gate the sick-town

Each wailing warmth,
Each bleeding heart –

I NEED THE SCREAMING-STONES TO STOP
so I bump my head and numb my death

I chill my bones in liquid groans and wait for it to set;
I suffer like a FOOL UNWORTHY
biting back self-sympathy
The pain I feel is fractional, how dare I be testimonial

JUST HELP ME STEM THEIR BLEEDING, PLEASE

then let me writhe in peace. 

Anyway

Who spits molten lead as I?

Whose shivers leave stone teeth and staring eyes

Who bites the blood into prose and parade

Who paints the bruise into shades that don’t fade

Who lets the lightning in to translate the thunder

Who breathes in the glass dust to exhale the wonder

Who faces the fire to transcribe the burns

Who worries the lion to feel its great fur

Who walks under currents to see the sea play

Who jumps in the lava to rescue the clay

Who pines to feel pain just to write in this way?

Thank God, Myself gets to come along

Or the poet in my brain wouldn’t stay.