Saren
New Haven, CT
The feminine experience; honesty in verse.
"There are not enough words to express our failures and accessions of the feminine - but enough to make us free."
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Epidemic
you take that last hit on the cigarette
bleeding through my vision like a curse
allow it to sink into the back of your mind
just as far as you have hidden my memory
a distant darkened wound no one can access
and many would assume never really existed
living like you do seems to derail time itself
setting its vicious rapist hands around my insides
clean through with violent clicks in counting
of the scars you inflict upon intangible tones
all in the one final breath of your chosen sin
Anchor (can't wait for a dream)
I carved your name into the sun set sand-
as if any marked sufferings would dissipate
and you'd forget I ever knew how to love
(someone else, anyway) and remain here
like a crude plaything covered in decayed soil
waiting for the little boy to come back
But you're a man now with many histories
dangerous yet you quite dress the way you suit
which makes me wonder will this tan your hide
when you realize the one thing I wrote for you
is merely about you while I still compose another;
someone alike you, sans vapor trails as you are-
I will sleep this night under the halogen flames
where no one will haunt my sleeping dreams
and I find comfort in your twin who holds me-
a trifle of affection which you never could break into
this darkness will not consume me in lonely shame
though it masks hatred for disposal when the sun comes
Thoughts of Turpentine
this haze has settled in each recess
reds greens and browns cascading
harvesting in my mind their perishable dreams
winding about within insulated useable space
where. there. is. no. shelter. for. myself. any. longer.
gently you come into the whitewash door silent
screaming with your hands about my breathing
though it cannot hold the force we once were
burrowing our sincerity with nails into foreign soils
where. boundaries. are. unknown. to. us. any. longer.
this makeshift suicide bombing on our flesh burns
someone else's sheets are holding on to our memories
burdened with our endless desires and how we slave
spinning webs to house the lies we make in this bed
where. there. is. no. promise. made. to. you. any. longer.
each tidal wave is housed in picture frames on the lawn
every bass-toned fury hidden in the view of a sunshine day
ravaging the purpose beneath this unchartered territory
sewing the seeds of hatred that still burns on your face
where. boundaries. are. crossed. love. shall. not. survive. any. longer.
thoughts of you are turpentine destroying Picasso
reds greens and browns spilling into a sea of blue
painting a portrait of self-sacrificing mishap upon the floor
granting wisdom within insulated useable space
Open My Close
say she watches your shoulders
washes your hands and it
burns over our tongues
spilling to the empty streets
reminding our memories of
losing tiny lessons which
started somewhere larger
than we were at the time
but we still remember
how our lips moved in corners
of our sight under
radio~static~wave
radio~static~wave
how the gateways of sin
E X P L O D E D
under our fingertips
Oh yes honey, I remember
your eyes wan der ing
our skins ly ing
and yeah I remember
goosedown and waking
before the sun your arm
resting in sleep on my waist
intentions that could have been
honest but she's watching your
hands watching you close
Elan Vital
rivers fork and though our
towers bend we are in place
among carousels of windless
suns and swirling tides humble
in our beginnings of fortitude
we are breathing alive to be
awash in this grand little spill
on the rug where we laid our
innocence and fairytales to rest
when we wake in dreams of colour
vibrant in misery of remembrance
we can drink in this torture this
malevolent force of desire we feed
with gaping mouths of sadness
written on the palm of tomorrow
will be the apocalypse of our day
where our flesh burns and flames sing
swirling ash into star-crossed skies
(she was) Catholic
You moved me into the temple
unaware with damp rosary beads
clinging desperately to telling palms
Like silver coins in the petticoat
hidden safely for the silent moment
with the holy cathedral voice in tow
you constructed our epiphany in water
smudging the lids for the visual sin
I cannot wait for you to forgive me here
each step toward the stained glass Mary
makes me wonder why you don't love me
Daylight creeps upon the statue of Christ
toying with expanding corners of darkness
light can fade honorably but it's never pure
because you are the wicked shadowman
you'll never make the sun an honest woman
Creation(ism)
you made me a smoker
<almost a cruelty>
ways I had to lie
to you myself if only
for survival of Pallas
your resentment fueling
an anger you made
my poetry reflection
<without my own face>
how your attention
to demand cornered
devotion to filthy bars
who let me be the alcoholic
ill blood bore me to be you
made me walking contradiction
<complex memory in daylight>
with penliemakeup to satisfy
I don't know what but you
made all I know of me
<and in this I say you>
made me
Epiphania
I illuminate self
realizations
I who was me
when I knew
who I wasn't
I harbour
divinity
in its mighty
recess
I conceive and
romanticize
aspects of my
pestering soul
stalemate of
my inner being
reaping fields of
flame colours
investing in
d o g m a s
repenting on
broken glass
despite your
shifting
Salvation
Frozen inside piano strings...
Walking a fine line,
Like those sparkles on the carpet...
During those formidable years...
I know we saw God,
Such as five year olds eye licorice sticks...
Beautiful like you...
I am a painted face,
Yet my mirror shows my true reflection.
Ringing doors to spread salvation...
Sparking inner peace,
But the books are burned like city waste.
You're still here smiling...
To close my eyes could mean sex,
Like a time I got lost inside your water glass.
Salvation...
Is inside ourselves,
But then time has a biological clock too.
Pele
Sometimes she hitches...
trailing red in her wake-
like a sentinel;
searching out attachment...
in the shake of a wrist.
Sometimes she burns
vicious tears into your heart...
ripping away memories
in fitful spurts of rage.
It's just that sometimes-
she hurts...
And it's not easy
to see why.
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