Monthly Archives: March 2016

Mr. Moon

I never speak to you anymore,
Or anyone,
But I see you large in my sky,
So far away,
And I love you in the distance
My constant friend.

I don’t tell you my troubles
In silent chrysalis,
I let the dead sleep,
And also that which will live
When these nights give birth
To the ever-changing sun.

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Love’s New Song

So alone under your arm
All these years
And now we’ve shaken the china shelves
And broken those fragile edges

And our finest pieces are fragments
But we see them now, don’t we?
And you broke me
but you didn’t leave the rubble behind

You chose anyone else
While you cracked my design
But you came back
And isn’t that love?

So we pick up these days now
Bound by the sorrows
We’ve painted on each other’s faces
Our tender, unspoken regrets

I used to see the world
Measured in rhyme
But these new shades
Echo in chaotic dissonance

And I don’t know what fits
And I don’t know where I am
If I can’t hear the patter
Of cosmic symmetry

But you revolve through my sky
Some kind of new, varying constant
And I know now
You are not certain

And the sun may fall on us
It may crush our days
But perhaps from the ash
We may stand once more, shoulder to shoulder

This is not the love song I wanted to sing
This is not the dream of love
That makes a bride giggle
But it is real

As torn flesh, and sleeplessness
And the winter desperation
For summer-heated skin
If only to know

You aren’t a walking corpse.


A Pound of Flesh

Tomorrow I will treat myself
As something lesser than I can be;
I will punish my appearance
For my undesirability,
And I will go about my business
As a wasted commodity.

Tomorrow I’ll agree with you
About my insufficient claim
I’ll stay silent because I know
I’ve no right to change the game;
I’m an unwanted anomaly
In the world of All The Same.

Tomorrow I’ll use what bits I have
To feed the shallow illusion
I will grovel for forgiveness
For being a poor substitution
I will accept my surface
Necessitates my exclusion,

Tomorrow I will crawl about
The rotten crust on which I’m born,
I will discount my existence
For the crime of being shopworn
After you drank my youth,
I learned to swallow my scorn.

And tomorrow I will drink it down,
And tomorrow I will judge my skin,
And tomorrow you will take the blade
Forged every generation
And exact the pound from all of us
Because you’re hungry again

But tonight I’m angry with you
For a lifetime of distraction,
For a woman’s only strength
Being the strength of her attraction-
Because your every passing desire
Is another pound’s extraction

In every passing generation,
Ad nauseam, with no drop of compassion.