Ah! I propagate such worthless states
I kindle hearts with eating-haste
I sip the silver lip of eyes
The gourds of flame, of fire and ice
I whirl the spinning and purloin their stares
I whistle and whip up the ferryman’s wares
I catch my breath on the current of thought
And my oil-slick heart bleeds — a lot.
Still not but harrowing be the breath
Still not still but my heart beats
I ache to find repose in death
Meanwhile attempting to believe.
Call privilege, vainly swoop abroad
Above sluggish shores of little gods.
Defeat the lineage of the beast
Which picks our bones from pleasing teeth.
Disregard interim fate. If you’re not you, why ever wait?
The world longs for Tragedy, for Grey tones turned Silver by romantic sludge.
give her instead some Bravery. Let Quiet call the hush.
This is what it seems to be!
when all inflections bury me
engulfed in liquid sleep and stars
my mind scurries through burning hearts
i am tossed about the ground
flurrying on thought and sound
hidden tripping music weaves
a lonely caustic melody.
the words marched on my tongue
and beat a reluctant retreat
for after beating both my lungs
my teeth forced them into defeat.
someday somewhere the words will fare
far better than here they did;
i will not be able to hide in my hair
the love i refuse to admit.
I fell upon the coldest stone,
And found myself in a dreaming-world.
Where the stars were holes in a gaping maw,
And the moon was a flag unfurled.
I stumbled into a river of thought,
And the current dragged away my dreams.
While the cat-bears prowled on an endless shore,
My eyes came apart at the seams.
My vision blacked and the moon came back,
From its holiday in the sky.
And even though I cannot sew,
I frantically searched for my eyes.
That I recognize myself!
In a person who has never been me.
More so, though
Is that she doesn’t recognize herself
In those moments.
Mama, did we ever finish talking about
That memory I have where you told me on the way to Walmart about a woman God wanted you to pray for;
And the woman had told you she needed prayer right at the moment when God told you to reach out to her (the moment you did reach out to her);
Well, remember how that memory
Was in my mind, and I nodded along as you told the story to dad, several weeks
(A long time) after you had told it to me.
And how I knew what you would say, before you said it, because it was a story I knew? You had already told it to me? I remembered it from that trip to Walmart?
But then I brought it up, I said
“Yeah, I remember you telling me about this; it was that one missionary from Ireland, right?”
And you looked at me strangely and
Because you had just spoken to this woman
This story had just happened
I could not have known it
But I did. I knew. I remembered
Clearly the entire thing;
You told me it as we drove to Wal-Mart.
But you insisted you had just spoken to her
This had just taken place;
you’d messaged her; this conversation was dated today!
My memory was in the wrong time frame.
And we drifted off somehow
Forgot to keep talking about it
And now I wonder
If I experienced some intense form of déjà vu that
Inserts a memory into your mind, very specific, very neat, very certain even after that moment has passed, with surroundings and clarity;
Or if God told me what would happen
Before it did.
The little tiger climbs his cage,
Mewling loud in tiny rage.
His itty paws are clawed and sharp,
And mini eyes glow bright and harsh.
Little tiger wants his dish,
Wants blood and scales and salty fish.
His appetite is cut and ripe,
Jaws are poised to tear and bite.
What little tiger doesn’t know,
He’s itsy though his temper grows.
Ferocious beast is still in fact,
Nothing but an orange-striped cat.