Saturday, March 22, 2014


i imagine shrapnel
that twisted metal
wrought in heat
and pain

but here and safe
in beautiful america
it's only a metaphor
even in my mind
i see shrapnel
as the mangled body
of a child, of a girl
from the blue eyes
of the boy on the bus

you can't forget shrapnel
trapped in tissue
urging out
but never

there like the shadow
the knowledge of returning
to your empty bed
the secret stone
now turned

dull throb
constant ache
blur in the side of my vision
faerie friend i can't quite see

even in laughter
in love
in every consequentive
steel rail
one on another
pour it out
sink a shot of gentleman jack
drink it down

even in sunshine
even in the bath of blood
the movies, the music
the every single stone
that builds your every day
peanut buttering bread
goodnight kisses
every dirty dish

shrapnel, always

war drums

i wait
oh Lord
i wait

with this throbbing between my legs
like the beat of the war drums
pressure of blood
pushing too hard against
veins too fragile

hands on the table oh Lord
i wait
hands upturned in prayer
hands upturned to catch the rain
not yet falling

in the beginning oh Lord
You created the rain
falling through nothing
like a girl from the beams of a bridge
one drop oh Lord
one drop
the girl hits the water
and her soul never stop falling Lord
never till Your arms
but that one drop oh Lord
never hit the water

from Your rain came all things
the second days and all days after
and You Lord knew their number

now in the desert
i hold my hands upturned
i know not the number of Your days
oh Lord
only that they are running out
and soon the rain comes
like on the first day

Thursday, March 13, 2014

trying to shake the night

i dreamt you died,
and woke up, crying
my first irrational thought was to call
half three on a winter morning
you were probably awake,
working, muddling over some
problem only you see
but still, it seemed unseemly.

I went back to sleep
to dreams streaked with blood
and waking again to my alarm
I tried to shake the night

strong coffee
and watching as
daylight makes its feeble attempts
on a winter horizon
half seven and there's
no light
as the song goes

in the end, I guess
I hope
that's what we're all doing
waiting for a morning
of spring too soon to feel
and trying to shake the night