kismet

Even now,

moving again,

I have to dig you up.

I carefully sift through the rubble,

searching for your hand,

& I wonder if I can even recognize it now.

Gathering my clothes is tedious.

What’s important now?

What can I live without?

Certainly not your hand,

I think to myself,

throwing more of my wasted life to the side

in search for anything salvageable.

It’s far too quiet now.

It’s been like this for a while,

but I’ve learned that praying for a sound only brings something

I don’t wanna hear.

Still,

I put my ear to the ground,

as if you are on the opposite side

of this busted wall,

trying to find me too.

Even now,

I think of when we first met.

When the music was sweet

& it kept me calm.

I hadn’t felt like that before.

I hadn’t known that things could be simple,

natural,

growing so slowly,

you can only tell by

folding time.

I was anchored by that noise

& the more I listened,

the easier it was to fight the tides.

I use those high notes to keep me from getting dragged down completely these days.

I hadn’t realized that each passing frame got a little more shrill,

to the point that

all I hear now is sirens.

Are they calling to me?

For me?

At me?

Do I wanna know?

Even now,

I have a difficult time talking about it.

It’s hard to have definitive thoughts when you don’t know if you are

at the beginning

or middle

or end of something.

If this is the beginning,

what possibly could tomorrow bring?

What haven’t we seen yet?

What can we do when facing a monolith that is sure to fall on us?

If this is the middle,

who makes it to the end?

Who can I rely on to keep me around?

I don’t want you to get lost

on the way there.

And if this is the end,

how does it happen?

Will I be hoisted high or away?

Will things return to how they were before?

Looking around me now,

I don’t see anything I recognize.

Even now,

I hold my breath.

There’s someone down the hall.

I see you

in the door frame,

eyes wide,

and I motion you to stop.

If there’s no change in shadow,

they won’t bother to look.

We are frozen here.

We have one hallway,

two lives or

two deaths

in cold blood

if one of us move.

You stand still.

I stand still.

They walk away

& we close the distance.

We know to act while we can.

There’s no notice when they’ll

take our air away again.

Even now,

I love you.

It’ll be a hard one to shake.

There’s only so much I can carry with me, but I seem to find plenty of space for your things.

I don’t remember what this one was from,

but I added it to the pile.

I take what I can,

whatever still lights me up

amongst all this ash.

I peck at the Earth,

a crow from my own possessions,

making everything I touch

precious to me now.

There’s a way to remember you

& I’ll find it here soon.

I have time until they tell me to stop.

I have hope until there’s none to be found.

My nails break more with

each stone I turn,

but I keep searching.

Even now,

I don’t believe it.

You were everything I was looking for.

I knew it as soon as I heard you.

& to find the ring I’ve given you all those years ago,

laid faithfully on the hand

that reaches out to me

from the ruins,

& to hold it in mine again.

I told you I’d take you everywhere with me.

I told you we’d have it all altogether

& that things would be different soon.

I told you I would never leave you behind

& I meant that.

I’ll always take you with me,

The mirror that day

shone someone new.

A wild woman,

a warrior,

a newly-tamed shrew.

Hair sparked like flames

to fix up my crown,

& deep within my iris

rose a low,

rumbling sound.

It alerted the guards,

the Navy,

the base

the tower.

It sent signals to the top

to keep the mindless

in power.

“A great love has shifted!

O, we cannot let this be!

The loosening of fingers

of those itching to be free.

We’ll drill with such force

none could begin to see

the beauty,

now luxury

for only those wealthy.”

A sour verse,

rhythmless,

cursed with

no swagger.

What’s a fool to do

but to pull out

his dagger?

He slashed,

and maimed,

and bloodied

our house,

from the fiercest wildcat

to the quietest

little mouse.

A chain-link of pelts

dragged across

the lair floor,

a hamstring-made-toothpick,

Achilles heel to

hold the door.

The stone arcs fell silent.

Darkness pooled on

damp ground.

But from the low light

of resignation

rings that thick,

thunderous sound.

Soft,

a daybreak,

just beyond

the shore at first.

But with time,

our star Brightons,

bringing along an

unquenchable thirst.

As the seas start to rise

& the rapids find release,

there is but one

resolution,

one faultless,

one feasible,

one full

A tabletop game,

one goes out,

the other’s not far behind.

I reach for the glass again

to check if it’s still full.

I can hardly get anything down.

I take a few sips

then hand it to the next guy.

He chugs it,

then vomits.

Too much of a good thing.

I roll it up again,

twist the ending.

Man, this is a good show.

Who wrote this?

I ask,

but it gets caught in my throat.

Dry, from the wildfire.

So strange yet familiar.

I should kick your ass

for reading my diary

out loud in front of

the whole class yesterday.

I know you stole it

from my locker during Gym.

Hacked the school site for my code

and everything.

It’s a little much but it’s

never enough.

They give me weird looks though, now

that I have Jennifer’s body

& half of mind.

No one knows how to hold me.

From the bottom,

I slip away,

through the grass.

A spilled drink you

paid way too much for.

Serves you right,

with something sweet on the side.

Goes down easier than ever.

I light the end,

watch me float away.

You’re coming with this time.

It’s your turn

to spin the dial.

It’s written here that

there is somewhere

One touch to the forehead,

& they all back down.

Fistfuls keep swearing

they’ve seen me around.

I wake in the morning

with a phantom limb,

Atrophies the second

I start climbing.

A spring load,

launched too close to the sun.

There’s nothing quite like this,

a bliss has begun.

The girl you all write of,

I’ve never met.

Saw her once at a show

with a hook in her mouth

& some catch in her net.

She took center stage,

ate it raw on the floor.

And while everyone cheered,

I just watched in horror.

Was this entertainment?

The fear,

the flesh, the

forced sense of containment?

I left that night early,

scarred by what I saw.

Three-foot long nails and

a grizzled, bloody maw.

I found out later that

I had saved my own skin.

Turns out she massacred

every soul who dropped in.

They call her something else now,

they don’t dare say her name.

The cities keep on changing,

but the feeling stays the same.

I heard her on the radio,

rebel rousing the troops.

My gold ring started burning,

a hot lasso,

a loop.

Holed-up in my room,

I’m trying to think.

Did that girl ever swim or

was she too used to the sink?

I read the rocks crushed her,

she was stoned to death.

A stenographer took down

the words of her last breath:

“My limb!

My limb!

O, please let him live!

There are fates still to seal

& deeds to forgive!

Never again will we ever find another,

I die in the faithful hands of my lover!”

A surprising truth,

I’m sad to admit.

From the length of her hair,

to the steps to commit.

A disturbing post

to mark an acre we lost.

A small, gray window

always too soon to frost.

I pitied that girl,

I guess she’s better off dead.

No one ever seemed to know

what was going on in her head.

Save for that silver slip

I saw that one night.

The tine in her lip,

Every seven days feels like the last.

Maybe this week.

Maybe this week.

Maybe Someday,

I tell myself

for years, but

Someday has gotten lost on the map.

Someday went into a bar & never came back.

Someday crashed the car and

drowned in a lake 2 feet deep.

Someday never returned from war,

no matter how long I had our picture up.

Every night I lay awake

praying my Someday

comes home soon.

If not for me,

then to put all these other

Steadfast and hold!

Quiet now.

She says she hears the

Archduke down the hall.

I nod along.

Take out a light

and cough.

“This is slow dance music.”

My eyes water.

The drop in goes dark &

we are the only ones now.

Among no appeasing thoughts

you found me.

In a metal crate,

incorrectly labeled,

defiled.

Looks like she forgot

to take this

home again.

Deep sigh.

Put her with the rest of ‘em.

Lined up,

everyone else’s miniatures.

I scribble down what I can before

I’m yanked away.

It’s my only way in.

Scratching the surfaces,

brazening overtures,

staying up all night

nursing a blunt forced

dramaturgy board,

stuck with state pins and

bubble tape decks.

I blow it up

(all the time)

praying you’ll forgive

and it is not a marathon either.

it is a relay sport.

if evil can pass a torch,

I didn’t go to school for it.

I can’t look at a graph or chart

and tell you the trends.

The lines bend for me,

Bell End,

until they ripple as water on the pond.

The rhythmic pulse of decency emanates from the depths.

Glowing green,

imbibing.

You are absinthe from class today.

The sharp clink of silver on China,

Bell Toll,

this tea tastes like summer.

Rosie, are you even listening?

Wind chimes in with a story now,

one you’ve heard before.

Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back when it’s done.

I pour and leave.

Back of the circle now,

In a rocking chair.

I see the stars even during the day.

They ask me what I studied-

or maybe they want to-

but I don’t know what to say.

Everyone else said it so much better.

Bubbles pop in our throats &

I’m alone again.

Did I ever tell you

I had to fight for each

degree of separation I sought

from Al Anon?

The third one went to the bone.

So burned up that heat waves

started to crash all across the island.

A hot knife to the throat

of the threat to our kin

that my hearts and I generated

just for you.

Sky Woman. Thunder Bird.

Willow Tree. River Bed.

No, I am not a meteorologist.

But I can’t even begin to count

how many times I’ve been

do I scare you?

how deep does it go?

The layers, count them, peel them.

does it feel better when I go deeper?

does it hurt?

do you want it to?

keep me here longer,

tied up, or maybe

just high

you are high, and i like that about you.

do you have a light? i want you to come downstairs with me

you are finally here!

that bulb is flickering,

so I guess it’s only half the time

I don’t feel good.

Do you have something for that?

I’ll close the cabinet door if I ever find out.

there’s someone sitting with me now but they don’t make a sound.

it’s so hard to hear from above.

I’m just so high up, it’s

not impressive.

It’s scary.

There’s no one from ear to ear.

We are all missing from you.

I’m scared

there’s no one from ear to ear.

I’m all fangs and down

on all fours.

It is not the wind.

It is not the siren.

Paleness in the face of the moon,

homesick and howling.

Only sweat breaks the silence.

I’ve taken for granted

Goodwill for too long.

I saw the eyes of a demon in the mirror.

She had gray irises and a castle made of ice.

I kept my bathroom cabinets open,

hung scarves across her image for years so that she could not escape.

I used hot pokers and incantations to exercise her out.

Woke up every morning in a swamp of her fury.

Sticky, heartless, rancid,

she crawled from me.

I chained her to a tree on a plantation in Georgia,

one of the floating oaks that line the entrance way in.

She may stay there,

gaze longingly at the Homestead,

but she will never return.

The glint of our flame reflects poorly in her clouded vision,

All the things that didn’t work:

1: My body.

Maybe I was dressed in black lingerie,

or as a Go-Go dancer.

Maybe I had pink hair,

or hardly any at all.

Maybe I came as the slayer,

or the God who summoned her.

Maybe I was perfumed,

frosted,

layered,

unkempt,

unclothed,

coated,

shivering in maroon shorts and a yellow tank from my mother,

asleep on the couch outside your door again.

It never occurred to me that it didn’t matter.

2: My ego.

No one can do what I do, and that is true about everyone.

If I am beautiful on the outside, they will not see the Rot.

If I am beautiful on the outside, they will not see the Rot.

The Rot has claws.

The Rot has teeth.

The Rot tells me someone is here, but not who I think it is.

The Rot is a womb which bleeds house and home like a rusty faucet,

Iron Age,

internal plumbing condemned by lead piping.

You know,

I put my mouth to that once?

You know,

I drank from it?

Not by my hand.

They say you can lead a horse to water,

but they don’t tell you what it takes to make it consume.

They don’t tell you about the knees buckled,

the bile,

the dread.

Have you ever ridden a bronco with nothing to lose?

Nowhere to go?

A word from the wise:

Don’t stare down a mare who will take

any turn.

I haven’t always had the luxury of making my own bad decisions.

I go door-to-door across this island now asking who’s got the reigns.

“Hey, who’s pulling the strings ‘round here?”

Always a different answer,

always something that doesn’t quite look like proof.

Only genius seems to know us.

3: My family.

I’m sitting on top of a lawnmower to save my ankles and the daisies in the front yard.

I have the conversation again, in vain.

She always knows just what to say.

I guess I’ll believe it tomorrow then.

All the things that did work:

1: My spirit.

Along the garden wall, a string of cherry-red flowers creeps towards the sky. I pick one to preserve, tucking it behind my ear for safekeeping until I am back home. Not a moment later, I hear the call. I haven’t much to bring back today but there’s plenty in the cupboards, I think to myself, planning the suntea I’d make upon return. The call gets louder, more complex as I approach. A rolling snare, Fernando’s footsteps echo between the trees.

“You are almost home,” the leaves fold back-and-forth in whispers.

I laugh, though I know I shouldn’t. I look back on the path behind me, all bloomed in crimson and teeming with life, and I can’t help but wonder how I got here. I certainly recognize this land, for this is the place that asked for my stewardship, and my memory is strong within her. Do they know I never truly left?

The birch begin to rumble like stallions across the plains, bumping into each other in their desperate sprint towards liberation and growth. Their skin peels in great white curls, begging to be plucked and burned in mass regeneration.

With Homestead in view, it takes but a few steps to light the fire. There is a pot on the stove. There is thyme in my hands. There is a checkered tile floor and pale, green gingham curtains. I can just start to see them now through the window.

2: My song.

Someone told me once that

rhythm is half silence.

And although it’s an

indisputable fact of nature,

there comes a point where the beats strike so close together that

it emits more of a hum,

a vibration that resonates so continuously,

it could keep a bird in flight or

a moth guided to a flame.

& I could be wrong,

of course,

but I swear on my life,

it’s the lightning flashbulb

eye-lined superstar-crossed

love storybook keeper

character arching

backstage past life

I felt in you all those years ago

that I keep hearing.

Maybe,

but who’s to say,

I came home from war last night.

Put down my battle axe and picked up my piccolo.

It was a long time away.

Even longer since you didn’t know when I’d be back.

The years condense from this point,

folded accordion style in the courtyard.

The things we say in jest keep coming up,

deep from the base of your throat,

a stirring, a backup vocal.

The last place you’d think to check.

The last place you’d want to be.

The last time we saw each other, I was rancid on the inside. I completely intoxicated the place.

Left them gagging behind the venue, spewing guts that no one would see, for years.

For years, the tissue grew on that spot in North East, creating life.

A better biome for the masses.

For years, I ate off that ground.

Dropped food, crumbs, leftovers from a party no one came to.

Every bit fell straight to the floor. Fuck,

I forgot to put my stomach in again.

Left the light on for nobody- my only regular- every night, for years.

When they kicked me from the infantry, I nearly lost all my fight. Down to

two breaths a minute.

I can’t imagine looking at someone like that and not wanting to be with them.

I guess there’s something hidden within the lyrics. The crowd reaches out to hold our mystery.

Shimmering, they know who it’s for.

For Years.

For Weeks.

For Minutes.