fragments from the yearMature

A collection of poems and "prosetry" for my "write every day (or nearly) for the entire year" project, titled NAOLOGY. Beginning January 1, 2014.
Ratings will be disabled if things are rated down for no reason. Criticism is more than welcome (I can take it, I have thick skin) so long as it's grounded in being constructive.


In the afterglow of my dreams,
I reach out for you - all fingertips
and sleep-lidded eyes too tired yet
to open, all hunger and blind trust.
I miss you when I’m sleeping.


I’ve learned to back away from edges
because the earthquakes that come alive
in my chest thud hard enough that I fear
they could crack the earth beneath my feet.


In my dreams lately I’ve been spitting out my teeth, crumbling them in my fists and leaving them as trails to find my way back home.  I don’t know what this means but you are always waiting, waiting with a cigarette and a new set of teeth wrapped in plastic.  In the morning I brush carefully, convinced everything feels loose.  


I become craven when the sun sets
and I am bathed in the warm honey light,
all the illumination of the day is wiped off
like soot, like evidence, like a memory


we are anchors at the bottom of the sea,
whispering to each other through the murky waters,
you’ll never guess what I brought with me.


you are still a tidal wave on my shores, even after all this time, even across all this distance.  we are a fixed point in time and i will never stop looking back.  in my sleep, i dream of your mouth and how full you would have made me.


we are twin moons orbiting the same planet for a million years.  i watch the light touch you in every way i will never be able to.


sometimes when it snows
i think of the way you say my name
like it’s some kind of spell against the cold,
like it might freeze on your lips
if you hesitate at all.


i gather the quiet like
kindling for the fire, i
keep it close, keep it
bundled under my arm.
it’s a cold night
and wilder things than i
are looking for ways
to keep warm tonight.


we are splinters gathered
into a hemp sack, left alone
in the basement to be forgotten
and fade away. 


 we don our anger like armor
       prepare our hearts for the slaughter
              tell my daughter i love her
                    greet the darkness, the great saboteur,
                           there’ll be nothing left but bones


 why do people
talk about other people
like they’re old jokes
that just won’t quit
being told?


i want you.
these words get stuck
in our throats, caught up
on presentation and pronunciation
and sinking fast with the weights
of time growing on them like cysts.


my mother is a series of 
knee-jerk reactions.
my father is a dry patch of fallen leaves 
waiting for the tequila to soak in 
before he catches aflame.
my sisters are twin moons 
too beautiful for the things 
they’ve had to live through.


 We spin webs
where bridges won’t do;
cross with delicate steps,
our breath caught
in our lungs
like we wish it was helium.


we met like fire and water, like
lava and the ocean, like two
pieces of a disaster no one
knows how to recover from.


Quell the surge of
     unpleasant heartache with
          inspid drinks and choke it all back with
               enough weed that 
                    tomorrow is already a dream.


 I walk around in my underwear.
You say, you look good.
You do not touch me.
I watch the snow falling outside.
I try to sleep, I dream of you.
You say, we cannot cross this distance.
I believe you.


We quit wearing these scars as medals
and started using them to keep track
of all the nights that pass us by
and all the things we can never take back.


I am two people
trapped in one body.
I cannot house these flames
and build this house
at the same time.
I cannot start this fire
and not let it burn.
I cannot fund my life
with the heat we create.

The End

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