mute

why is it that i hear screams in the night. when i close my eyes, and it’s quiet. flashbacks of you, having to be restrained. you biting, biting. i’m bleeding. memories of you strapped down, pulled full of ketamine. close your eyes, close your eyes. i’m pleading.

dormancy

I like the way the water seems to go the right when the wind comes in from the east.

And when I look up and squint, I’m reminded subtlety of a winter’s tree.

Barren branches just at the top and a bird giving a low, lonely call.

Within a second I’m reminded of where I am.

A place where the screeches of mowers are never-ending and the sun always shines.

The longing always remains though— to have a break from the heat and for it to be so quiet that I can hear the falling snow.

inconsequential

had a dream of my father last night
sitting across from me in a ferry
going which way, I have no clue
he faced the water, he wouldn’t look at me
he seemed mad at me, like he knew
I wanted to ask him
about the time he wanted to die
but I remained silent
the winds played with his thick mane
the low gray clouds behind him
ushered him back
I woke up sad

wanting

please lift me, lift me
the worms are making their way
into my nostrils as we speak
please fix me, fix me
bones are broken, can barely crawl
I am so weak
please save me, save me
soul left, sin eating me up
I’m not complete
please forgive me, forgive me

burnout

water everywhere, around me
surrounds me
puddles, the ponds, lakes, the sea
water above, around
surrounding me
my head under everywhere it seems
stuck breathing in bubbles, barely
but I’m gasping for air in my dreams

season

his notes throw my brain
back to winter, cold and ice
he’s so good at that
everything freezing, everything leaving
rushing past me
going to places — I want to go
his keys spark my sleepy memories
my eyes explode with
those open fields and dying trees
my heart melts with burnt clouds
and those magical fading leaves

friday

the beach was littered with red that night

near the end of September

the sun was mourning the end of its reign

the fact that he’s so blazing here year-round

was little consolation

he gave himself a pity party

I just remained and enjoyed the constellations

rage

I wonder if the Hulk ever hit his mother.

Did he ever graze her cheek

with his massive green fist so fast,

so hard, she couldn’t speak?

Throw her out of his room,

out the window, out of the house?

And I wonder if when he returned to normal,

did he recognize her scars, her hurt.

I bet he couldn’t remember–like him.

Darts his eyes from the display of pain.

Doesn’t move when she flinches away.

Doesn’t recognize the tears

because he can’t remain.

And I wonder if Stan Lee understands

what it really means to love the Hulk?

To stand in his way regardless.

The supernatural drive to help him stay calm,

despite the horror, despite the harm.

The relentless love at stake…

all the tender, godforsaken love it takes.

impossible

they were running wild near the edge of a cliff

and they asked you to rip your heart out

which you gladly did but then they told you

to push one of them off the brink

push, you weakling, push

would it be your young blonde with the lovely smile

or your red-headed child with eyes of light?

you put your heart back in and begged them to

take it again 

they looked at you like those hollow

beings that haunt you during the day

without saying a word, without a second glance

cause you’d had enough of their nonsense

said a silent prayer and took flight

like falling snow

leaving whispers of forgiveness

that your children would never know