everything
tightens
around my
spine
with a
foul
taste
nothing
stands
as decent
or good
i'm
watching
the hours
thin
and turn
to broken
arrows

memory is the
undying
companion
of grief

pumping through
the night
even the air is
wearing scant

decades later
you'll love this
all the thin
slender nights

when you wished
the bones had
more meat on them
but were glad

that they didn't
it is clear now
the necessity
of every thorn

now
i'm on my back
sentimentality
standing on
my chest

it's beginning
to stomp and
all my soft
innards
burst

my blood backs up
my brain drowns
in it
my eyes swell
with it

my vision
fractures

down this
corridor
i've traveled often
but never quite
like this


and this might
be the moment
that i
don't make it
through

the rag
in the basin
looks like
a headless bird
plucked of
its feathers
and deflated
the disappointment
comes in waves
alternating
into desperation
and inert
dejection
this might
very well be
all that you
were allowed
to manifest
which today
feels like
a short coming
like not much
at all

when he saw the white bird fly
his child,
that would soon end up like him,
stole two golden coins from
his dead eyes

he was lost within four years
after his wife died
he often stank of ashes
he stole fortunes,
hid them beneath the stairs

i heard his gypsy song yowl
through the predawn,
his ghost came like a blur,
smearing the night
flapping wings and feathers
against the storm

a cold word
written by
a cold hand
the sun
is ablaze
washing out
the sky
stripping off
its azure

she stood
next to him
putting her
arm around him
a chill
like an
ice pick
shot through
his limbs

he wished
to be
satisfied
instantly
even though
it would
mean his soul
not a word
was uttered
as she did
his bidding

him lying
on his back
muscles tight
with pleasure
sneaking peaks
at pink
marvels
and red hot
daydreams