Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Queen Anne's Lace

Shadow: here

internalizing barbed wire
wrapped with circular
around your brain.

The durability of youth
must’ve forgotten
to cast it’s light
upon you.

A softer, westward storm –

perhaps in the wake
of further division;

we’re splitting decimals now

fractions of coagulated
bean residue
hardened and encrusted
on the rim
of the bowl

in the dishwasher

that never runs.

The Russian Doll Dream Sequence

One wing
within another fluttering

through the graves;
through water

magnifying your imperfections.

You stole my camera
to take a picture
of a warmer breeze –

something to look at
when you felt cold.

The colder days
inevitably came,

the warmth in
the negatives dissipated
amidst despondence.

I felt a wave of melancholy;

I stood still
deathly tired.