these are the days – unfiltered mouthfuls of air, an unremitting force in and through your system. water breathes through you, bearing a resistance similar to a blunt knife slicing into an ice block of defrosting butter. today, the air we gasped upon each inhalation was an age old carousel of stale recycled waste. still, I got up and went on with the business of – living.
reminding myself of the lives built on love and sacrifice, unceasing suffering and a singular lotus, abloom in the gunk of brown mud. towards sleep, I watched as your eyes grew themselves deeper into the trudge of an elongated well. held back the coins i had wanted to toss into the maker of untold dreams and fervent prayers. listened, as the pitch of your voice sloped into a parched damp of burdened worries. there has been such struggle in my daily doings, simple gifts such as listening, speaking, eating, moving is tied to an invisible thread, threatening to snap at the softest jolt, a gentle tap.
then, i spoke to myself in the dark. it is not in spite of suffering, that we grow. it is because of it, through it, and with it. warmed this illusion, in the heart of my palm as the adulterated faith within me, drifted.
swim thoughts: now able to reflect upon my initial distraught at having witnessed a beagle left alone in the dark. feel like my thoughtfulness was marred by an inability to view both stories. the compassion i held for this animal, was in a slight way erased by the heat of fluster I felt towards the person/s who saw this through. frustration, unknowingly accumulated grew into a dark tunnel; veiling my sight.
cruelty on occasion, arrives in various forms
i rose to the morning with little concern for the earth. still it spun, water continued to leak. there were even birds, perched on a twig-thin tree. were they singing ? my palms cupped my ears, there was nothing i wanted to hear. all i longed for was to remain hidden under a fort of fabric. sinking deeper into it’s appetite for my despair. for minutes i shifted my limbs around; in this crumpled state of turmoil, brewing and glowing in it’s filth.
then, i heaved my body off and flagged my sheets into a sounding poof! flopping into a puddle of folds and creases; i tucked away the corners of it’s floral pattern – as if demanding a part of me to remain unseen; till bedtime.
i don’t wish for you to suffer –
but there is no wish to be made
for your life, on my part. i wish
you’d want it to – forbid the horror
of it all; of all that may be avoided in
seeking out; but you do not –
i sought after another word for wish – hope, longing, desire, want; there was none other quite like the nature of a wish – it’s distant and foreign hope for the intangible.
the shards of sea glass, torn
around their edges had found
me at last – and with a sudden
throw, their glassy bodies
penetrated my flesh; at first
thick and guarded. violent
gestures flaked over my form;
silken films of candied caramel.
little else was sweet; a gaping
wound left wide and raw –
weeping a pale, dusty pink.
the wind recalls – her
direction dives into a
sharp slice – linear and
absent of any slipped pause.
there is no apprehension,
or second thought given to
the validity of her action.
a vivid clarity, lifted in
an uphold of pride and
purpose – residing in the
swift movement of her
the light – bright red
and glowing in spheres.
a repetition of circulating
gradient; illuminates the
center of this room- dank
with the wretched spirits
of they who embody the
persistent clenching of
swelled tongues and tight
lips – sore and sworn to
secrecy. time, begets an
opportunity ripe enough
to taper; this disdained
haunting, of us -we
consumed by guilt – a
sour – rolling over
and under our tongue.
vision; discolored –
an intermingling of minimal
hues strewn into a spiral
of psychedelic confusion. an
opaque vibrancy; radiates –
shedding acute light upon
what had once remained an
unpronounceable form. it’s
identity – unknown, a distant
halo of uncertainty;
doused in purity –
glistening in tints of light
here it is – the suppressed hurling,
pounding sadness; from the soft
parts of my body – shallow nooks,
entrenched openings – out of myself.
at the curve of a stranger’s doorway –
sloping spines, bent into the corner
of a tidy hallway; a common coridoor
occupied by passing shadows, an
occasional ghost – fleeting and
wandering; their visibility shy from
the bright light; encapsulating little
of their detail, instead absorbing
their bodily geometry –
transparent; fluid like