all poems are copyright by me
Praying at
the shrine
and surrounded by dust
Kneeling in piety
and filled by fog
Dense tendrils coiled
around his lungs
Reaching from the inside
out
Pushing its way through
Reaching for the outside
air
Tainted by dust
Twisting around his will
and slowly constricting
Struggling to breathe
The lingering malodor of
the dust
Rising aroung him
Mixing with this inner fog
And winding around his legs
Slithering up to his chest
Covering his head in the
miasma
His pious worship consumes.
Knocking,
or pounding,
I can't tell anymore,
The sounds blend together
The door
My heart
The blood in my head.
My eyes are open,
Four walls, a small rug, a
large window,
and a small hole for the
mouse who lives with me.
His door is too small for
me,
and my door is missing.
The window looks like it
might work
but maybe the glass is too
thick
I can't tell from where I'm
sitting
and I don't seem to be able
to stand.
The word
"stand"
and the room begins its
little dance
A pirrouette around my
senses,
Dulled by redundancy
Sharpened by repetition
And the slow shuffle is
deafening
So I close my eyes to the
room
and drift back to sleep
easing into a wakeful dream
of a room with no door.
Floating,
tired from swimming
We tread water as long as
we can
Legs pumping and kicking
Like children throwing
tantrums
We fight to stay afloat.
The surface is calm
Submerged in a lake of
glass
The mirror surface reflects
our face
Sun glinting into our eyes
And we squint to see the
flat nothing around us.
Only the flat sound of legs
and arms immersed
Stirring bubbles, drifting
up to the surface
Then popping below our chin
As if to tease
That we might float away on
the currents
And burst into a blissful
naught-void-self-space
In a radiant flash of
memory,
Brilliance,
Reaching out like solar
flares.
I'm lost
and it's too dark to see
I'm slamming my hands
against the wall
looking for the light
I'm bleeding on a surface I
can't see
I can smell the blood and
stale air
I can't hear anything over
my heart pounding in my chest
Panic fills my lungs
instead of the musty air
My throat is raw, my voice
is hoarse
and I can't hear anything
over the blood rushing through my head
I feel a snap in my wrists,
like breaking bone
but hands are too numb to
feel anything
Feet are numb from pacing
the perimeter of my cell
day, month, year, or five
minutes, I've lost all senses
Lost my bearing
Lost my voice
Lost my hearing
Lost my feeling
Lost my sight
Lost my
Eyes grown
used to the dark
and skin numb against the
chill.
Wind lifts his coat and
sucks out the warmth
Spattering the rain against
his already wet face.
He glances up to the sky
Dark against a black
background
Occasional distant rumble
the only sound to keep him
company
but no lightning to turn
the ink to blue-grey.
And he keeps his pace
steady
Never slowing to rest or
stop
or give up
Never speeding up to avoid
mother nature
He takes it on the chin.
Too long to remember where
he's come from,
Too far ahead to recall
where he's headed.
But he knows enough not to
stop
Nothing is left dry
or warm
or light
Just the spray against his
face,
The whipping of his coat,
The rustling of his wet,
heavy clothes,
The deliberate step, left,
right, left, right
left
right
I wake with
you beside me
Moonlight filtering through
the window
Warm summer rustle of
leaves and curtains
Night-blue light falling on
your body
Eyes closed, deep in sleep
Walking through your
dream-place
What might you see?
The same things as me?
the two of us lying
together...
our hands intertwined...
the intricate patterns in
your eyes...
the brilliance of your
smile...
I gaze on you and sigh
So in love, I'll give you
everything
As long as I have you in
return
The greatest gift of all
So in love, I'll tell you
every day
For as long as you're there
to tell
I watch the rise and fall
as you breathe
I reach out and lay my hand
on your shoulder
You sigh and move backwards
against my chest
I lay my arm around your
waist and close my eyes
To join you in our
dream-place.
Morning comes again
The sunlight bleeding into
the small room
Illuminating the emptiness.
A man sits on the bare
floor
Looking, and seeing
nothing.
The pain inside blots out
the yellow light
Stealing into the room
under the door.
The tears have stopped long
ago
and he is tired.
An empty plastic bottle
sits beside him
Twenty-one pills keep him
company on the floor.
He has counted them many
times
During the long night
and he is tired.
The struggle continues into
the daylight hours,
But the sun is indifferent
It will rise tomorrow
regardless.
The pain floods over him
Like a tangible thing
Like heat off the pavement
on a summer day.
He clenches his jaw and
fists,
He shakes,
He clamps his eyes shut
and he is tired.
His eyes open on the small
white pills
Twenty-one,
Struggling against the urge
but he is so tired...
And slowly
Thoughts, memories, images
Begin trickling into the
pain
Like water to ice, melting
away,
Replaced by thoughts of
her...
He is so tired,
But he is also rejuvenated
Hearing her voice
Memories of her laughter
Images of her face
Thoughts of her love
All combine to blot out the
shadows in the room
The sunlight seems dim by
comparison.
He slowly grins to himself
Having won another battle
And lays down for sleep,
Interrupted only by dreams
of his
One true love.
Gun-metal
grey
Matte finish
Dull but gleaming from the
inside
Surface marred by few
cracks
Flowing lines, into grey,
Perfectly still
But somehow shifting
No wind
No sound
No breath
No life
Yet a certain energy
pervades
permeates
Air crackles
Hair rises
Skin tingles
Ears hum
Heart races
Breathe deep
Before taking the leap.