My Notebook

Skin for paper, skin for paper, but yours, is a poem of flesh-

1.

When he wakes, he’s holding her in handfuls

Of ash and regret, like a postcard never sent,

Sitting sunburn next to his sour mash body in a Latin Quarter gutter

In words she never read, lying in the bed beside her.

 

2.

What’s left, is left,

What’s done, is done,

What’s lost, was taken,

Once loved, now hated,

All becoming- currents

In a glass sea,

With me, chained to the helm

Spikes in my eyes,

The sun behind me,

Sailing, off the edge of the world-

 

3.

I am a black heart

Smoked out by the burning city

We built from nothing,

Gone now, to ruin-

And me,

            Here, alone,

Lost, empty,

            Chalking something naked on the torched asphalt:

                        ‘It’s all been shot to hell,

                                    All been shot to hell-’

 

4.

I have found

            That when I need language the most,

To scrape out the rust,

            Scab the hemorrhaging mind,

                        And sketch the red river in my Viking Funeral

                                    To carry all the bodies out of my swollen heart

           And my bombed out city,

I am left only with an empty page,

            A dry inkwell,

                        And the want to save her, to save us,

            For one more night,

                        For one more night-

But I am only a god in ruin, condemned to the silence

            Of being-

 

5.

It is my darkest hour

And I have nothing but the rain-

 

6.

The real war

Is the human being soaking his handbag skin in a cold shower

Trying to hose off all the worms of being

A fist halfway through the mirror

Strangling the color

But too tired to hang

Too tired to even hang-

Reviews

[Star Shaped Heart]

i hate it. not your poem the feeling. i hate so hard. i am hemorrhaging and love bleeds in my f*****g hands daily. its bullshit. and i cuss all over ur page. sorry. its deep.

[Hollow Man]

one more night...never ends

[.]

. yeah ... that's how i feel today ... and every day ... since the last many days ... too tired to even hang ...

[emmah]

- they are so much more than mere timeless snippets - or stark images - these words of yours - these are words that take their ink - and stamp the being of the reader - these words could haunt one forever if one didn't deliberately try to not remember them - because they are so soaked and so immersed in an exquisite darkness - that they flow in veins - if i were brave enough - i'd let them seep through this night time curtain - i'd let them linger forever in the swirl of this smoke that hangs from walls - and what did i know - i just did!