Fog Bells

leave, leave powerless and leave that

which is around them powerless,

a terrible wind and the trees

twisting unnaturally in it, land overcome

by loving arms of water rushing

in far too vigorously, and at no notice

the contents of my body escaping me,

yet the earth had oil, a most frightful thing

that never crept in the night, that only

laid in the ground and waited

us out, and when we drank of it,

we were poisoned. which taught us that

some frightful things not just as painful,

not just as loud, not

carrying just as much force,

understanding is a cushion

and love lets us know where

the cushion is, so that we

can lay our head on it.

why are we fighting ourselves?

we haven't learned.

how much more,

please breathe, please.

this isn't beautiful,

is this a requirement?

but the sun shines;

despite anything, a shine.

keep breathing.

we will never be gone again.

my table is foggy

door's open

you've been dreaming

ceramic

thieves, broken oven handle

watching music like it's going

nothing about that has changed

quiet makes a way back to me

words make their way back to me

density is a problem

the needle only hurt for a moment

a moment when clouds overtook

the sun

it's not an eclipse

just a vacancy filled

drinks stay cool in their thermal cups

drinks are perishable if not kept cool

i wait and sit, i linger

for longer than necessary,

like piles of snow on the roadside

summer dozen my laugh

my laugh like what's

behind

she's dying, finally

staying away from

it always tickled me

that you'd, that you'd

i never said the words

mountains were alive

i yawn, on the toilet

in bed, i'm only guessing

it's only guessing

pack pure white

insides

slightly off

putting

and a bit too

strong, makes

the stomach

churn..

not too long,

the gate

to the pool

is closed

line drawn

fabric

and dates named

over, ochre.

what is this?

what in the ever

changing is this?

have myselves lost

themselves

i don't know how

to rhyme i don't

know how to rhyme.

but, almost gone

oh, oh, oh -

magic spoon

fingernail blood

blister stained

cigarette after

rain

what is what

i have shoes for hands

white picket fence built

on a tripwire you and i

so alike the weird waves

running up from

the lake and there is

dirty water in my hands

i know my mom's death

was my fault i hope

that it rains today

like every other day

and it'll fill my head

with flowers hanging

from hooks on the porch

isn't it something nice

nicer than feeling desperate

and red eyed on

the kitchen floor at 2am

the callous on the tip

of my thumb goes down

smooth and i try to

swallow hairs but my throat

can't grasp them

the dirt under my nails

reminds me of you

and her stuck in immovable

ways until i cut them

i hope that this feeling

isn't left like a clot

or a small frightened dog

on the recliner wondering

who's going to come

i, wish, that, i, could, go, home,

reserve, reception, repetition,

is, this, everything, that, i, was,

taught, in, school, mathematics,

grammar, ten, fold, i, just, want,

it, to, be, right, i, want, the, right,

fit, this, is, wishing, this, is, what,

face and mine is a move

that's like a shield this

barrier is a coalescent

bond and do something

eject every round object

and watch them

bounce off of walls

are you sick of shooting

arrows, are you feeling

terribly unwell, are

you weary of walking?

do we yearn even as skin hardens

eyes, skrink to pin points

and angels are dancing

a quarter placed head up collects

water droplets, my fingers are stained

with the smell of nicotine

onto eyelids, knocking at the door,

the spit runs out, dries.

my throat raw, two ibuprofen

reduces the fever, pushes it out

of my skin like a broken dam,

and finally i sleep.

consideration, support, returns

on investments, don't damage me,

take it slow, take it slowly.

there isn't much room, i roll

and luxuriate as if on egyptian cottons,

against you, against me, i never thought

i would be what i am turning into.

but speak, full lips of shimmering

ease, the pressure of the push,

the unsteady held breath.

what are we doing in these alien days,

colonizing, pollinating, configurations

that i knew were possible but had

never witnessed as reality.

only grip me with language, only

take my ships out to sea, i know

more than a steel-toed boot

to the shin, my throat

aches, there is

obviously something wrong,

but i don't care, it does not

hold much merit, do i want

anything if anything

is this, is the potential

for pain outweighing the

actual pain, i prefer the call

down, i prefer the steel-

the heart that tucks itself away

behind ribs, is cautious,

is becoming soft, has always been

soft. this is not codependence,

is coexistence, you lead me by the bit

and then your grip went limp.

well, no matter. i find the opportunity,

the squirrel not sleeping through

the winter, your knives were only sharp

because i sharpened them for you.

no more of that. this is the lesson,

i'm keeping my knives in the drawer,

i'm carrying the gun but not

the ammunition, the grenades

are rubber, the landmines are duds,

and i won't ever drink any amount

of poison that my body can't digest.

wars are over, this love is my own

first and foremost, this waking

up and being grateful for waking up,