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.
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.
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
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
water everywhere, around me
puddles, the ponds, lakes, the sea
water above, around
my head under everywhere it seems
stuck breathing in bubbles, barely
but I’m gasping for air in my dreams
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
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
I hope to see the blue deep
before I leave this world
have it be real
not a dream
have my ears echo from
all the calls of the sea
feel content when I taste
the foam like cream
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.
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