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Literature Text
Gone Goes The Gondola
i row in a fucked up gondola
with holes in the base of it
and dollars gone like there
were craters in my pocket
because i’m drowning
in the you boat,
under siege
in this regatta defeat.
burning the edge of bucks
like i was preparing venison steaks.
in a venetian lagoon the stakes
rising like adriatic sea
salt poured into your eye,
after they’ve been ripped
from their sockets.
saltwater kisses my cheeks
as if i’ve swam
in the strait of malacca.
stuck in waterlogged lockers
where the waves have bullied me
into submission, submerged
in this oceanic obituary.
with holes in the base of it
and dollars gone like there
were craters in my pocket
because i’m drowning
in the you boat,
under siege
in this regatta defeat.
burning the edge of bucks
like i was preparing venison steaks.
in a venetian lagoon the stakes
rising like adriatic sea
salt poured into your eye,
after they’ve been ripped
from their sockets.
saltwater kisses my cheeks
as if i’ve swam
in the strait of malacca.
stuck in waterlogged lockers
where the waves have bullied me
into submission, submerged
in this oceanic obituary.
Literature
What happened to your voice?
your thoughts are jackals, yet
their twilight howls sound like cries
in your head;
you have been finding yourself
& not-
while trying not to sound so
sad.
so, Dear Heart,
you can write.
yet,
you stopped wearing your words
on your wrist
& all that hair you chopped off
this day a year ago, refuses
to grow back.
you turn, try to decode
your encyclopedia of powerful
spines, tearing at the pages
you wrote them upon.
angry, You were so angry.
& now?
nothing but an untamed, wild thing
you leave collared & quiet
in a cage.
Literature
Icarus and the Use of Force
it wasn't abandoned
but it was quiet-
a smell of metal
in the grain silo
the ladder outside
speckled white
I clambered through
the basement
into the home
of a murder
duct taped
their feathers
to my arms
sat there
gazing
like newborn crows
before me
Literature
untitled (broken records don't have names)
my fingers flutter sunrise butterflies,
floating in the morning
as it breaks through the gloom
that came post-gloaming.
but i confess,
i have no grasp
on what to do with daylight
these days.
you were a drop of sunlight
reflected in my cloudy-sky eyes
eventually you became too
good for me, and i gave up
my waxed wings are still intact, but
my shoulders are too sore from
carrying this deadweight with an
obnoxious, obstinate heartbeat
and how are you faring this golden afternoon?
you will never answer and yet
my mind loops broken records,
asking as if you could hear.
light halos the plain beneath my feet
but i shy away from sunshine,
an
Suggested Collections
You boat = u-boat translates to under the sea
and i'm under siege.
Wordplay. It is my thing.
and i'm under siege.
Wordplay. It is my thing.
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Comments10
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This seems really sad to me. 