Monday, January 29, 2018

i don't need ...



i don't need ...
i don't need a lover
don't need the snowdrift of velvet skin
don't need the softness
of late night kisses
don't need the sweat and salvation
of sex
don't need the harsh word mornings
when my head fills with thunder
and your face breaks into
a torrential rain
i don't need a woman
don't need an embrace
don't need the heartache
when the armies of goodbye
storm the castle of hope
and break through the walls
with the scream of silent adieus
i don't need a reason
don't need excuses
don't need explanations
for living alone
for waking in the darkness
and not calling your name
i don't need a voice
from faraway places
don't need letters and postcards
full of promises
that read like best-before dates
on a half-eaten loaf of stale bread
i don't need your troubles
don't need to know
that your heart is failing
don't need to prepare
for your final whisper
don't care if that last breath
puffs out the sound of my name
i don't need all the sadness
people discover when things
fall apart
don't need to understand
how anyone fails
to anticipate disaster
when disaster is as certain
as tomorrow's sunrise
i don't need God
don't need Jesus
don't need the priests
with their incense-stained hands
and their strings of magic beads
i don't need retreat
don't need to move on
don't need yesterday or tomorrow
and above all else
i don't need the eyes that
never just watch me
but always actually see me
don't need the trace of fingers
through my hair
don't need the promises
that have never failed me
the promises of deliverance
and safekeeping
so perfect and so rare
they ring like church bells
over wedding vows
and when my breath falters
remember only that
i never needed the miracle
that has always been
you



 







 

Monday, January 15, 2018

you ...



you ...
you — the ones i trusted
you — the ones on whom i depended most
you — the ones always in my warmest thoughts
you — the hands and arms of comfort
you — the lips of soft kisses
you — there and there and there
but no longer
here
no longer
within reach
no longer
within screaming distance

oh don't say
it's late in the evening
and time for bed
don't turn me over
in my heartache
so that you can see the other side
of my pain
i'm

living without you
living in empty spaces
lost in the uncertainty
of loneliness
caught in a net of empty hands

this is
this is how music leaves a room
and never returns
this is
this is how love falters and fails
and later i will

listen to the thunder
and think of you and
you and
you
yes, i will
think

of the puddles
i splash through
after the storm
and nothing
nothing more

and remember you




 







 

Monday, January 08, 2018

the news was bad ...



the news was bad ...
you were standing in the hallway
beneath the fluorescent lights
close by the one that flickered
in rapid pulsations
that i somehow imagined
emulated the beat of your heart
when the doctor said to you
in his softest voice
that the news was bad

and i guess you didn't see me
standing just inside the door
opened just enough for me to hear
what you heard
and i guess you couldn't know
that when you began to shake
i began to shake too
but not for the same reason
since you suddenly foresaw
a life without me
and i was dreaming of escaping
my pain at last

if memory survives the closing drift
of life's final song
i will remember you
i will remember the cup you used every morning
when we shared coffee on the front porch
and you wondered if the drifting clouds
foretold a day of rain
i will remember the way you slept
so ass-backwards it befuddled me
and i will remember the touch of your hands
over the scars and craters of my body
and i will above all else remember
your love
and what i forget
i will re-imagine
as maybe only a poet can
and i will know everything again

in the winter meadow
an aging horse
stumbles and falls
and in the crash of mortality
the snow billows up around him
cloaking his frosted body
in conclusive veils of white
and if you look hard enough
you will see a young girl
far off in the distance
running to that cold place
her eyes wide with tears
but not tears of rage
and not tears of sorrow
simply tears born of some knowledge
of this finality
of having known his exuberant gallop
beneath her tense thighs
once before
and once again
and now
she hastens to him
to watch his crippled body
rise from the ice and cold
and race towards
the warm light of the sun
and to know the twitch
of his head
and the turning pull of the reins
endlessly again
and then
endlessly again




 







 








 
 


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