Maybe these???
Injury has a taste. Press your tongue
to that wound where no blood weeps.
No copper trickles like your lies. But tang,
the tickle of sharp-sour, shocks
with subtlety in the way a 9 volt battery
introduced to the landscape of your mouth
does. The tangible awe of your words
slick your lips like bad hair gel. Casual
looks for casual cruelty.
~~~
I want this to be the way you always say my name
probing for the extra syllable, the indecipherable
scratch, and prod it with a tongue so close
to my ear, your taste buds vibrate in the same tone
as my tinitus. Your voice, a tumbleweed grenade
of arch and roll, tucks into my stomach before
the boom. Before the last breath. Before
the explosion that blows my life apart. Before
the packed duffle in your Chevy bed waves
goodbye with a half-zip-body-bag flap
and my heart wrapped in your old button-down.
~*~
I watch a pumpkin transform
into conveyance, white wheels
and a place to rest. Why bleach
orange from the sphere? Surely,
hunter-blaze would flare beneath
the stars like an inferno. Lobster
blue dress a complement to its hues.
Her exit from the carriage
an emergent phoenix, a match
struck against a cold castle wall.
Instead, I'm hit with purity, demur.
A tick sucked into a pallid circle
becomes a second moon. I wonder
how pale light and masquerade,
a muteness baked into magic,
helps anyone shine at all.
~*~
Could this be the flaw, next to your heart?
Disapaited smoke leaves us with the scent of ghosts
younger us, holding hands and meetings by the jukebox.
We'd skip like the songs, groove like records, drink
as though tomorrow wasn't worth its remembrance.
Our boots hit plank floors like gunfire, the spectral
smile you wore stole every breath but mine.
~~
Immutable. Waves etched in sunspots glare, angry
steal sight and glitter, as though beauty isn't harmless
pattern on the snake a draw and a promise like a wedding ring
the death-rattle breath we vow to love until.
~*~
Blogged this!
Glass slippers on ballerinas. We wait for the leaping,
a startled deer across the stage. Spotlight catches against
the sides, etches the feet on display. The sound, lone applause
or breaking. Did you see the girl on the left wince? Is there
blood soaking the curtain? Will the men lift them up in dueted pairs
or will they dance together, yet alone with waterproof mascara?
~*~
Redo for IG YT
Pass through the doors, reflected by mirrors
put the stones in your pockets to shatter the extras
until you find the exit. Glowing sign no sure indicator
in a Los Vegas type of funhouse. Everything florescent
neon shimmers before you in a patterned mirage. Even
the humans glint in exhausted brightness. You can't
see your tired eyes in this light. The outline of all doors
become the box you're trapped in... without. Will you
find the exit? Why bother, if this is a funhouse?
~*~
We hold in our hands a silent thing
a beak, a mouth, it does not sing
our lined palms become a highway
for another creature's heartbeat
Why do we hold this silent thing
whose song we cannot try to bring
forth by replication or memory
no struggle from the meat cage
How can we release this silent thing
life in our grasp, we feel like kings
we loosen fingers to take a peek
and find that all is soft and still
We know we made this silent thing
before, once free, how it would sing
We miss, we miss, that joyous trill
We gather sticks to dig the grave
~*~