I simply want to peruse the view
Circle ’round the vultures, catch the pieces they strew.
A syllable here, a vowel or two,
The cannibalized chunks of the wording we do.
I’m waiting for permission, but they’re circling lower
They don’t want to share
And that’s fair
But I’m starving.
Whoa, what bitterness is this
Whose twisted thoughts have I trekked in?
Surely this darkness isn’t mine,
This want for aching, wasted time
Someday I’ll be solid, healed
Someday the nightmares won’t be there to steal
If the nights are silent, the days reveal
Endless screaming from the ones repealed
Some time night and day alike
Will toss their haunting-juggling storms
And all the worry and fear I despise
it still hits me like deep chills,
wind that flows in my bones, without any right to frost my skin
yet it does, it does
the tantalizing taste of life, the lightning-bolt-belief of light
i feel as though no one has lived before me,
how could any exist in this same place
without crumbling into dust?
I swear my intensity is unmatched
i promise the iron that crystallizes in my blood is unmet by predecessors
who are you to challenge me? i can’t even breathe
this place is foreign and i will blink until the sun sets on
all these wasted words.
Do you recall the times
You called out in the night
And your voice bounced off the walls,
And all around, in spite?
And you weren’t careful with your words
Because you thought
I was there for every wish
Every lost thought and brokenness;
i stalked your breath and kept your kiss
your secrets enslaved to my shudder and fist
you wanted relief but you sold the release
you are known by unknown entities;
Who am I? I’ve just been drifting through the fog awhile
Breathing in the murk, the hazy
All mess upped and turn arounded
If I stop writing I’ll be drownded
Let spill the sizzling hilt of sword
that dams your flooding blood with steel
the lapping blade, its greedy stains
which bring the coping rain.
My vision blurs, I sink and swirl
and every cell within.
my poison will never win
I vomit ink to cure the meat
of pages of empty sin.
Make me a steak of refusal-fate
and I’ll spit in my hand and grin.
I’ll slay whatever filthy hound
would cut my bile with gin.
I don’t know who I am when all these wordlets nip my skin
Some haunting-story strokes my arm
And begs so softly, “name me, mother,”
I pull my flesh from dissonant harm
And beat the tale back to be told by another.