Choke

We were dead long before the first autumn leaf fell,

But where did it go, the moments?

I want to lie again in a satin mauve field and feel the snow fall for the first time.

I'm tired of living a pipe dream where the wallpaper runs like wheat tears of the sun

down the lone face of a steady child or the cold panes in a dead artist's cabin.

I want her lips to color mine like they did when we were young and the world was made for bold lovers.

But today is another wine day, I will walk trashed with trousers rolled down a beach playing the constant gardener,

Wishing the warm imperanence of a salt tide would save me from further abuse,

And perhaps- perhaps, it will,

Least I can pull the trigger still and color the Tokyo butterfly effect with my own blood, saying-

Seriously, it couldn't be helped, and it would be pointless to linger on,

The list of mutual hurts and sorrows will only lengthen,

To a breaking point- and what is left then?

The songbird can only choke on broken notes she never heard me play.

Reviews

[.]

. you are amazingly sensitive ... and only one as sensitive as you could do justice to you ... you speak of a pain that i'm all too familiar with ... and i wonder if they who cause it even know ... i have known many kinds of abuse since i was 9 ... and i only hope that we become more discerning with time ... we as in all of us ... remarkable writing, as always ... poignant and moving beyond measure ...

[Labtoad]

This is a stunning piece...your last line simply lingers beautifully. So well done.

[em]

there's a navy blue
and mango yellow candle
fighting the light

there's still some music
scattered in this room
and the tuberoses
wilt
with every intrusion
of the wind

your awkward footsteps
linger
just outside the door
they died inside these walls
but refuse to
go into the light

even the flames refuse to dance
but the candles refuse to
give up
their fight