Thursday, October 10, 2013


The cut always comes before I'm ready, my second measure  never complete. The words fall from breath to silence, from kisses listing and meanings gone astray. The words test the flesh like corpse flies, gathering to sup and flit upon the glistening pall of the meat. A sentence tensed, a tendon flexed, my story told in this need to tell. I never learned which words would ever be enough.

A fragment of the moon hung in the wide blue abandon of the autumn sky. All but dissolving in the empty air, settling like a ghost in the leaves of the swaying tree.  A bauble caught in a bright and ruthless tide, an object suspended like disbelief in the cool and errant firmament. Exposed and hidden, a secret whispered aloud in the bare blank sky. A stone slowly sinking, the tenor of this terrible faith.

All at once you wake and the night's wide open. You wake bathed in electric light, all the stars lost in the curtains. The words slip by, as if assembling their departure. The words surge on, as if taking to the wing.  I see the room, shine settling down like dust. The doors and walls, the floors and windows. The world right here, so loud and lonesome. Everything so evident, the words just want and want.

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