Turn

Key in hand

Matches the one to my

Mothers house

My dad isn’t there any more

Another one gone so

It’s hers

But this key

This key

Mine

Fits in my hand

Right away

No carving

Scars next to my finger

Wonder how that is

I walk in the door with

Problems and sadness

Sometimes food and

Poetry of

Questionable

Worth

A room of rugs

I tried to kill

And powders and

Sprays

And guitars that aren’t mine

Unless I want them

Access and trust

And how do I pay

That back with words

And pastries

And promises of love

I can’t prove but can

Imagine

And I do

More every day

How can I trust

This turn

This metal cut

To fit me

When my brain

Screams to change

The fissures that I

Dug myself

Deep and wrong

Can a key

Tooth and bite

Fit a cracked and

Clefted doorway

Can it lock out

What blew off the door

And froze the room

The metal warms

And matches my skin

When I hold it

So maybe

It can’t

But

It can turn

If I can

Sink

Drowning above water

Meant kicking

Thrashing

Digging nails into

Anything close

Dragging down another

Sodden, macerated flesh

Too long wet

pierced by

Points of a disproportionate

Fulcrum

So desperate to lever

To survival

You pivot the hand saving

And push it under

Bends are the least

Of the pain

On shore

You gasp and gag

Guilty

Crying for the crime

Woman slaughter

Suspected

But the suspect

Isn’t drowning

But swimming

Deep

Safe

And sinking

Feels like such

An unexpected bliss

Arms around you

Able to life the weight of

You, wet

Or dry

Sinking

Feels like

The warmth in a

Room with a closed door

Sinking

Feels like

The most natural

Wanted

Hopeful

Risk you can’t imagine

Fighting

Waves of a softer sort

Such a

Delicious

sink

Pace

Where in the cadence

in the pace

in the place

does sorry fit?

In between a scream and a punch

Sinews are slight

Between clenched throat

Dug In fingers

No space to slip in

Behavioral condolences

I didn’t space 20 paces

To your none

And I know

I slapped leather to skin and demanded

satisfaction

Drew my gun first

And called out cowardice

So you couldn’t see

My quivering

But I’m not here

On this pitted ground

Alone

I followed when asked

And brought supplies

For the fight

Don’t call we unwound

For bracing for battle

When I only came first

With shields

I didn’t draw my sword

Until there was metal

I could taste

Because it was

On my lips

I didn’t put it there

But I enjoyed

The stinging cold

On my tongue

The blood it drew

disguised with wet warmth

The wintry war

Putting down arms

Putting them around

Each other if

There is any room

In the trench

For I’m sorry.

Erudition and Examination

 

 

And tomorrow we’ll

again

I hope

maybe we could

if you want

do you

you decide

whatever you want

whatever 

you 

want

Did

I

really 

take your breath away?

That’s

what I want

hand on 

your chest

feel it leave

lips inhale it past

I want 

to be dizzy

from the

exchange

ideas and air

I want 

the good 

on paper

to be good

from a 

beginning

base

bucolic seed

on cotton

theory

become practice

academic 

become 

not by the book

by the hand

from straight crisp pages

inked only by their

unknown printer

to fingers curled 

from their own experience

not empirical evidence

based in 

experimental experience

without theory

But I have a theory

and I want to experiment

learn

put hands on 

have

hands

on

interactive

erudition

by examination

and not

be found 

left

wanting

1 on 1

1 on 1

1 pillow on 1 night

1 past

1 not ready for 2

No calculus lets the numbers add

1 page

1 page

1 page

No more words

No matter how many minutes

1 day

1 day

1 day

No more distance

No matter the steps

1 thought

1 thought

1 thought

No matter

A second thought

A second time

A second hand

Running over lips

Remembering 1

Waiting

For

2

Reflecting Shadows

Looking out

looking in

looking through

rounded panes

myopic 

too long focal length

can’t see

shuttered out

light kept inside

if you trust 

the reflection

not disctracted 

by the glare or

the intentional flare

artist in action

accepting allowances

for fighting 

ugly gnawing 

inspiration

the upside down

turned round

picture distorted

to reality

can startle to 

stillness

of inconsequence

look inside

your lens

leave the impression

to the glass

shatters can 

be swept

hearts are harder

to brush aside 

to shadows

fill

your light

Waves

The lights of shore are farther

Than they tease

Water colder

Than the wind on pier

Promises

The waves pull you in

Fight to fatigue

Surrender to surcease

Your body yards from shore

Lifetime from where you started

Floating

Buoyed only by the buoyancy

Of exhaustion

But the skyline is beautiful

And you aren’t willing

To let your head drop

While the city lights still shine

Waves

to land again