The slow into the curve
acceleration from the straight away
Moving in
Moving up
Moving on
Memories clicking in the rear view
Around the empty reel
Light shining white
In a black room
Soundtrack empty
Sound pulled out
Itching with blank space
Idling with routine
Baffled by dichotomy unknown
Blanketing under known
Picking and protesting and prostate
Then standing again
Missing not lost
Found not familiar
Delicious if you can but
Eat around the burnt bits
The left behind
Right ahead
The saints are beautiful
Staring behind stone
Some following
Some blank
Not yet bleeding
From hands and feet
That takes faith
More than
Blind turns unguided
By mechanical
Voices
Trusting a voice
No one has ever head
As you hear it
In the same twisted canal
Where that sound is born
I sweat under lights of performance
Not quite a soldier
But fighting
Only human salt
Less sanguinous
Only because of the breathing
Could belief be based
In something possible?
I’ve seen it
Touched it
Felt the air shift
And shivered
From the heat of it
Sacrifice and risk
Look at us
Writing stories
Where we
Dare the devil
To battle
With the draw
Of a heart
Still beating
That I can be called
Not funny
Too serious
Too sad
And still hysterical
When I make you laugh
I’m not hysterical?
Or is that when
you laugh at me
Get a thicker skin
Toughen up
Have I tried this
meat tenderizer?
It’s sharp and shiny
I bet I’d love it
I bet I could make it
Work and still
save my skin
What if I couldn’t even
get that right?
That would be hysterical.
Just a riot
A fight
a shelf to stack
the rage on
because it’s to
heavy to hold
for a lifetime
But easy reach
for when I need to
start throwing
Fits
Most things don’t
and even fewer people do
Don’t blame the jeans
It’s my ass
Or maybe my
wandering uterus is
taking up space where it
ought not to
take that out
before it does any more
damage
Blood and pain
from no source
Wouldn’t that be hysterical?
Is it the popcorn
And not new tires
that breaks
Your back and then
your heart?
It probably is. Makes sense. Mostly air. But when it’s
Packaged and given with a bow
And it’s a proof of something
that’s substance and warmth
And big enough to park a car under
And that car is something of heft
Not what was expected
But nothing ever is
Dark turned to light
In the most DNA strand
Twisted
of ways
Heat of ginger
That is warm
When the burn
Of whiskey was
All you knew
Can you pair
Popcorn with a steak
What about the cheap
Wine when that is all
You can afford
But it’s together
And it works
Beautifully
Especially when you split it all
two ways
Times two
Becomes
5
7 needs
A car even
More capable that anything
You’ve ever driven
And that might be
Too much machine.
Every last grieving has
Taken parts
Ever-changed
Not returned
Maybe there are
Allen wrenches
Instead of anterior descending
And the tools
To turn an engine
Are here for the first time
The Weight of Forgiveness
Lightness
Freedom
And just a touch
of moral superiority
Isn’t that what we’re
meant to get
from forgiveness
Wrongs released
and hurts mended
Rivers crossed
and ramparts of
differences breached
But what if that
isn’t the case at all
What if by giving forgiveness
we don’t un-weight but instead
yoke ourselves down with
the burden of it
by keeping ties instead of cutting
we find ourselves lashed
with rope that chokes and cuts
and grinds its filament fibers
into our skin, leaving
wounds we can’t see
at least until that slightest of
skin cracks fills with
infection and rot
What if we don’t give
forgiveness but instead
take on a heft
far heavier
harder
more forever
than the hurt
we are meant to
absolve
can gilding a dead
flower cost more
in preservation and
effort expended
when the kindness
is to return it
as the cycle
dictates
and not lug it
around and molten
monument
to what’s lost
and what to do instead
forget
walk until there
is no more land
and no more steps
and no more words
to fill empty space
and replacement poxy
for broken hearts?
What if the
matter of forgiveness
isn’t the grace of air that
Elevates is
but the
drowns us
Unthought thoughts
Mind drives away from
city security
down winding rural road
where grass grows higher
hiding
snakes
screws
splintered boards
rusted joints
oranged and weather beaten
into submission
behind sheds and
outbuildings
nails eager for bare feet
begging from buried spaces
for admission and acceptance
life’s blood
the places we avoid
don’t even look at
the mangled earth
left to rot
not forgotten
more painful
willfully ignored
and neglected
apathy as a
determined choice
even ambivalence
gotten wrong
not strong enough
to bury wrongs
in more than a
shallow grave
tetanus
protect us
if only there was
us
unthought
Where Does Everything Go?
Atomic displacement
A Feeling someone
left the room
just before you
got there
Not a scent
Not a wayward
strand of hair
lingering among the dust
not a thumb smudge
on a tumbler
A Feeling
Deeper than skin
receptors
vibration
that hasn’t stopped
echoing
When the Feeling
leaves
Where does it go?
Everything stays
Water to wine
wood to fire
Skin to putrefaction
All collected in the
balance
The missing element
unbalancing the scales
Something goes
Love to apathy
Hate to acceptance
Grief to nostalgia
to melancholy
to despair
to
to
to
nothing
Not every particle
walked out the door
Not every element
covalent bonding
Not everything
stays
The ones behind
know
not everything
goes
quartered
four chambers
valves between
one leaking and
flooding
whooshing
too much
in one half
the other
starved
valves between
anatomy set to drain
right scant
left swollen and
sluggish
skin dimpled
outer layers
turning to stone
fibered and
scarred
adhered and
atrophied
drawn four ways
and you
stand
still
a drill
crooked
and twisted
wrong space
wrong side
metal shaving
under fingernails
probably
not enough
for tetanus
probably
but
there a shot
for that
don’t need
anything
don’t slip on
the blood as
you
slide
in and
leave again
They float in with the light
the ones who left
Not in reflections
Not in words
Gestures and turns
opposite from
everything I ever
planned
prayers condensed
still etched and smudged
Clean the mirror
and my face is still
only now
I don’t see before
Can’t remember yesterday
Maybe around the eyes
When I’m tired
I see then
Lights out
heat up
Looking for before
again
floating in
forever
Missing the view
onto a courtyard
from a hotel room
never reserved
Not regretting the
last glass of red
when the cork
is still in the bottle
Reeling from the
first fight
when a dozen
polite words
expand the history
that hasn’t been
Not forgetting a face
not memorized
Not letting go
of a hand
never taken
Not knowing
morning eyes
and midnight toes
Not recognizing
fine from fine
okay from okay
hurt from hurt
true from true
A memorized road
driven with eyes
closed
but needing a map
Remembering everything
because it
hasn’t happened yet
Dark Yarn Productions 