Truest North (or The Fight For Flight)
To you~only you~will weary legs stumble with no sign of slowing
only slowly
rolling gold
oozing through cracks of trauma
like battle signs showing
missing pieces now where peace is~
Fuck a rib my heart stays outside beneath our queen’s glib starshine radiance
only wrapped within her sunchild’s warmth while we wage war with a wicked world which once whittled away wonders and wished our ways wayward…
But the heavens knew
~oh my heavens~
her settling stardust revealed the error in azimuth corrected course to an endless beginning
a whisper of life despite settling for dust and reckoned for dead my way-finder now set to a reciprocal heading
always to return to the place where we found our *way* under our stars that settle one-third of the *way* between the beginning of your pulse and the end of your gun
yes
~cien por ciento~
meet me under those que están treinta y tres por ciento entre tu pacemaker y peacemaker
There, I’ll be waiting (wayting?)
There, as we plan to make promises
FTW
Just lean into me
And I’ll lean into you, too-
That’s how we’ll survive
Just lean into me
That’s the only way for us-
Back to back, guns drawn
Just lean into me
Harder still, when your side’s dark
Trust my eyes to see
Just lean into me
Can you feel me leaning back?
My side gets dark, too
Just lean into me
We’ll follow sparks from flintlocks
Wait- or are those stars?
Just lean into me
Muzzle flashes lend us light
We’ll fight our way out
Heading for the front
Never coming out the back
Just lean into me
Acceptance Speech
Confess to me
A bleeding tongue dripping gold
Cut me
Warm skin but the steel is cold
Bind me
Only ancient arts mend wounds so old
Blind me
A last glimpse at cards you refuse to fold
Drown me
Made fast to’er mast as she’s pitched & rolled
Scorch me
Touch off powder from th’flintlock you hold
Envelop me
Who can deny what our stars foretold?
Rib(disjointed)
Yawning wide, the expanse
Threatening snaps
(Begging slaps)
Splayed open, call it ivory
Should it tickle? I’ll dig deeper
Raked, this xylophone
A wind instrument- played percussively
Dots and dashes, sound graffiti
~da-dittit~
Cursed in Braille
Smile in silence, and trace my trail
Turnt down now, and leveled up
Higher still, that the low country broils
Red with steam, butter sopped
A golden arch, and served (my pleasure)
Drowned in sound, and muffled breaths
Five to live, or rescue death
Here we start, back at the end
Facing away, moving forward
End at the back, just where we started
Bottom to top
Bottom to top
Smile in silence, and trace my trail
Good Bye
Like a grandfatherly smile, or a knowing glance from… who? I can only imagine. My world resides in those two words, those conjoined twins with arms enough to comfort. In a playhouse, they trick you into saying silly things, monsters on a wall are more practical in their teachings- but some of us, some of us revel in two words. Three get tossed around flippantly like seven minute abs- one? Well, there is no one. Two, though? Two can be as bad as one- it’s the lonli… wait, I digress. And plagiarize.
Two words I’ve come to expect. To adore. It means you feel the same as my mother. My fathers. My brothers. My lovers.
One day, I’ll care so much that maybe, MAYBE I’ll utter them to somebody, too.
Undeniable...
A summer thunderstorm-you know, the kind precipitated from a certain electricity that has whispered of you since dawn? The kind that forewarned hopeful beach goers with a single strong gust of wind rattling through the trees at noon; the laughable bellowing protest of a defeated old man huffing against the greedy swelling humidity. That heavy, heavy humidity which grows ever more unruly until the collective will of all the poor pink-and-white striped tourists is overcome and every “H” to be found-whether hydrogen or happy hope- explodes simultaneously, drowning all surrounding O2 in a downpour which leaves the pockmarked sand a sad strand of half-dug holes, tipped beach chairs, and abandoned parasols.
...Yeah, that’s what you are.