#submitmethingsfriday

I love to see the bearing on your skin, of

All the directions of the sun

I love how you speak a mile in my heart

And at an eye’s length apart

- 

And you ought to know, all I do, I do

i was only 9

when a venomous green eel

writhing elegantly in my stomach

whispered into my blood

that the boys who smiled at me

couldn't

shouldn't

be trusted.

i was older

when a hyena climbed onto my back to rest

and croaked "careful" in my ear

it crept away as quietly as it had arrived

but the carrion stink remained

and my shoulders stayed bent

folded in on myself for safety.

i was only a bit older

when a little robin

feathers black with dust and grime

fluttered into my mouth

and plucked my tongue out

like a worm from the ground

and left my choking on my own voice

without saying thank you

or anything at all.

now -

i ask forgiveness

from their lingering ghosts

from my own body.

but if they respond

i can no longer understand.

Seasons did wither

And the first act of love never

Leaves my cognition;

The second such act shakes the core

Of my person

With such pain, that it dulls me

  And the third act as true as the others,

But so truer still, as she lies here

Before me

  The currency of time switches swiftly

Beneath my soles

But the steadfast footprints of love

Share a space where my body stands

My window looks out on to other windows

Of varying size and height,

Not conforming to any particular story,

Dotted like crotchets on a stave

With the reason for their composition

Shuttered away behind opposite walls.

Possibly haunted or at least rented

By a presence invisible behind

The glass darkened in the sun's glancing.

There are only hints of reciprocal shoulders

I

And to work to one such advantage is to rule one’s life.

Never again will the song sound so sweet, never the melody so perfect.

To release a spirit that will speak for you, never again the common

Cause for mentality.

  And what matters have we to blame? What causality?

  By which and who’s means have we the duty to speak, when the world

Runs so divided.

  II

What is your moral vice telling you?

LISTEN.

  LISTEN. Do not hasten your words in the spite of some former

Workman of the world.

  Do not lay in enquiry in an eternity that ceases to give you

Meaningful answer and or repose.

  LISTEN. Do what the forefathers of creation, nay they be human not

God, that instill that best feeling in you yet.

  WATCH. All that you may come to know. And when you cannot see

That everything is knowable, learn indeed that your dreaming

Habits reign over the dominion of the world.

  What is the nature of your endless reign of words?

Always, is her root in the animosity of the soul and