Poems · writing

Metanoia

My mind speaks volumes

I won’t say a word

(Mama said she’d buy me a mockingbird)

Indentured to sickness

She won’t stand a chance

Bejeweled wings flutter a commonplace dance

(If that mockingbird don’t sing)

A value of equal to or less in stature than

Some thing left to squaller

I’ve muddled it, and,

(Mama said she’d buy me a diamond ring)

For too late I find, I’ve lost peace of mind,

And those thoughts are loud enough to ponder.

Poems · writing

Feverish

The orange blossoms on your sweet tooth yellow at me as I smile at you and I can’t gather these withering flowers with ugly dreams, nasty fiends, knocking at my door

What is it for?

Single melodies playing all around pretend to revel in its percussive sound

You know I’ll always be around

Until I’m not.

Who’s happy with their lot when all you are is what you’ve got

Distracted fingers memorize stop lights and bruises, alcoholic cruises melt into me and out of you

Liquid malnourishment

Find your tongue is spent working its way through the cash in my wallet

Blue rubber bands paperback hands jumping frogs and mildew incense

Innocence lost lost lost in every note

Feverish pursuit, bulbous trees taking root,

I’m too late.

Poems · Uncategorized · writing

Wandering, Wondering

I’m wandering through machinations, trepidations, my stipulations

Casting out hands like broken wings, taking flight through this suffering

She’s a little bird again, yes she

Her fragile heart wrought with ingenuity

My skin reacts to these attacks as each crack fissures an open wound

Oozing out these wanderings I’m wondering

Don’t I mean anything to you?

Broken, shifted, the pain is mended

Tied up with strings and sealing wax, it should have ended

And I’m struggling to write a tune.

Missing, missing, that sweet ache is missing

Her bleeding heart leaves a trail through this room

(Tomb)

They sing and I cry,

I dance and you sigh,

“I can’t see you again anytime soon, my love, no I can’t see you anytime soon.”

Wait.

Gone, now, all gone.

I move along,

And left on the floor behind me,

All tissue and muscle, steadily beating useless part,

Useless heart

Obsolete.