this

this is a gunshot
this is a gurgle,
this is the pull of skin on a knife
this is a howl, trapped
and twisting in the confines
of the sinuses

this is the knees, un-bent
this is the arms, unthrown
this is every hymn I ever cheated the sky

this is the bone scraped clean
and carved lying mute

echo

I will silence myself
for your sake
I will wrap my tongue--and still it
in the contours of foreign syllables
for you--that blind leap
into the fractured wildness
beyond my teeth
left exposed
eloquence confined
the curl of its back
I sent it to huddle
--for your sake
far from my skull

I want your hand
not my reflections
for your sake
this room is empty
and the echoes die away

foot

this step is a challenge
a defiant scuffle
the ringing declamation
that these knees shall bend,
that this calf will curl
that compels, through faith
that the ground keep its covenant

hand

here--this is the hinge
that holds the cosmos steady
across the creases
just blunted nails
dug into the heavens
tendons straining against
every erratic galaxy
that ever conspired
when the universe came together
to uncurl your fingers
and you met God with your knuckles
--a soft thing and fragile
cannot stand against immensity
but can hold itself, steady

ash

this will pass
like lilac wandering
down the slope
carrying the scent of shadow
over the rutted grass
and lavender burning
in the heat
by the steps

this will go
like spring rising
in the ghost of the frost
over the wet dirt
like fall snapping
in the cracked night air
and sauntering through
the dry grass

this will fade
like the driveway
to a slight loosening
in the shoulders
right before the turn

my fingers are black with memory
I swear I can clasp
the worlds that went down
in the soft grip of ash
on my tongue

iteration

it took everything
every ounce of flesh painstakingly
loosened and hung
on the bones, pulled straight
unknotted muscle
and skin stretched taut

in the end--there was nothing
but my heart
shuddering in the open air
and the wings

my ribs flung back,
arching--I threw myself
through the air

web

look here--
the web in your pupil
the fibers knotted around it
dense, you wouldn't notice
unless you were desperate
against the mirror
for a way forward, through the glass
the signs are scattered
wherever you look
you could unravel following
these threads,
but the thud of flesh
on glass, is the only answer

100th Post

... was actually the last one. So this is 101.

Pro-fucking-lific.

Yeah!

rust

tastes like brass-- the morning
a mouth of dirt, and rememberance
--rust.
the sunlight streaming
down sluggishly, in sepia.
Rose, above the chaos
of the sheets, below
and the sharp and
emptiness-- they didn't
cover
--soft under my palms, now, cool
thrown together
out of nothing
with dirt in my mouth
I rose to stumble,
I can taste it
--now.
through the haphazard light