The Day

…and there it was

The day of the dead, pretty bold & pretty blue

And all they thought was thoughts of you

Your tussled hair, your broken speech

Your broken heart, when you would attempt to speak

Wandering in the broken blue, the memories we flooded forth

Of you, of you.

We gathered close to feel each tear, this one huddled to the other near

We let trickle to the long long fall, the whisper of the moments each recall

So wave now, that solemn farewell,

God knows this is the only hell

To live here, without the breath of you

Against my chest. An eternity it feels, without you.

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How Loss…

How loss

Strikes at the bones.

How loss

Breaks wide with a wetness, heart bleeding to lung

How loss

Scatters the mind & fuses to the spine

How loss

Comes tiptoeing up beside the bed each night

How loss

Echoes through the waves of blinding snow

How loss

Becomes everything except, a home

How loss

Eats away at the little veins that run up our necks

How loss

Rips them from us

How loss

Grates away the nerves & the sinews

How loss

Is a full grave, both in our chest & in the ground

How loss

It comes back around

How loss

Makes us weep. Makes us drown.

Forgotten

and so that intense quiet of snow upon snow has consumed

both light & sound, already, the world in all its greenery

has become some fictitious memory boasted about by strange bullies & beasts

I am washed down, with this tin taste of blood in my lungs, the cold only biting with small teeth

how often have I run, lungs bursting, drowning, here in the cold

what wild consumptions of ice & black & how peculiar this sky, singing strange horrors in the night

all things are whimpering at the door, humming, or howling…or screaming

slowly light attempted its feeble rise, only to fall, in breaths of blood & flicker

Ask me what I know? How does the North keep me alive inside it’s deathly embrace?

How much blood has it frozen, blued, crusted in the veins of my fingers & toes & most definitely my heart?

How lovely is the frozen face & the water eyes of winter as they realize…

I once heard, rumours of soft sand & high held sun & ocean waves & leaves that never fall; of trees that do not stand, thin stark & white, glimmering rig immortally in the night

But here, this sway of stiff limbs & creaking bows & strange songs slithering along the snow, this, this is all I know. It is hum-drumming through these frozen wastelands—where my body barely breathes, only puffs, clouds of haze & glow.

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how smoothly the sun 

slips

horizon to horizon

a thin blade of light

gasping for breath

between this rib, & that…
shadows darkly splayed

how quietly this wreck flies

end over end, the wind whipping, everything pulsed open

the sinew of this world is tough to chew 

the marrow is molded & this is to be the putrid feast
Let’s tear it down, open, apart–something. Anything. 

              I’m quiet. Sitting. Watching sunset–upon sunset upon sunset. The cloud in this symphonic lullaby of beauty, heaven screaming at me. 

     The silent rise of the sun, pouring out in this river of mandarin & ice–I am, quiet. 

How many silent moving pictures, all at once, motioning with sudden parallels of ascending & descending–that little strange moment of crossing, just to find silence 

the bird pondering release–the cage crack glistening, slightly–to squeeze out–to tear off its own wings–to be push itself free–it sits, unbloodied, within, waiting, patiently