The Return

strange
that having loved,
and having battered,
and having hardened against its demands,
that love
once an instinct
at liberty, at home
is a stranger now,
how strange.


I marvel at the heart's forgetfulness
the side effects of resistance
I wonder at the mind's defensiveness
the consequences
of placing faith in fear

and the promise of love, rediscovered,
wavers and quickens my pulse
and then I walk away,
assuming the manner of the unaffected
who fear less and love with lower stakes.

how strange,
to love and not fear.
it doesn't suit me
I stand still
and wait for the stranger's pursuit 

Early warning.

melancholia and hot coffee.

dreams of being in love
with a man I know only in song,
and abandonment. 

reckless imaginings,
The Fall.

The extremities of ambivalence

Nostalgic for nothing definite.
More like a feeling, or a version of me I'll never be again
and yet always am.

Moments slip away and return in unexpected bursts
of memory that leave me breathless.

There is a universe inside of me,
and it is my own. 
I fight to let it out
while I reinforce its walls with whispers and rage

This is private

Beware of hungry hounds
and misappropriated affection
and remove your shoes and inhibitions
before entering.

This is a warning, this is a welcome
this is home.

The Soothing Delusions of Solitary Confinement

I met a man who suffered fear
because he mistook his work for his worth
I shared with him some wisdom I'd found
admitting that I, too, was prone to similar delusions

but he laughed at me
and shaking his head
claimed a physical intolerance of guided self-improvement

I could tell he was trying to conceal his contempt
out of consideration for my feelings
because clearly
I was the sort to succumb to self-help

and honestly, my feelings were hurt
momentarily
but I put my ego back in its place and moved on

I didn't explain, or belabor the point, that his handicap was mental,
unwillingness
and a steel trap protecting his pride
fearing change, shirking responsibility
content to be occasionally content
and postponing freedom
until his prison cell caved in on him entirely
and desperation awakened his demand for freedom

I'm familiar with the tendency
after all
having made a friend of misery for years myself

You are not a mirror.

I measured my beauty
in a neutral gray room
your heart was an island
my fingers slipped through

You're over there
I'm standing here
You keep your balance
I'll keep after truth

Peel-Off Frown

my insides an earthquake
my skin melts the moon
the whole world streaks through me
like smoke fills my room

windows scream whispers
door hinges groan
I'm waiting in starkness
all heavy of soul

blood tunnels gushing
limbs treading sound
puddles like pancakes
as sticky as frowns

Like So Many Broken Yolks

The splatter pattern
cracked a grin
Toddled sideways back at him
Pinched a nerve
Proclaimed him cured
and Spat it tattered out at him

Friendly Analogies and a Shameful Ought.

I know a guy who sees the world
through rose-colored glasses.
In quite a literal fashion.

I think the world sees me
through x-ray goggles, or an MRI scan.
Defying my right to wear skin.

I'd rather they think me impervious.
I'd rather I thought me impervious.
If only I'd been impervious
when I first seduced destruction.

I've never been shy of flying
but now the noise of machines
makes my stomach heave
and long for the ground 'neath my feet.

My meaning needs liberation
or even a weekend vacation
I'm so sick of this form, of its wanting
when what I ought to be is grateful.
Shameful.

goddamn these winters linger.