A little, little grave. An obscure grave.
a few words

i try to stop i do i do

i want to say goodbye but

not the victim or the perp i simply am

the crime

if i could give shape to the longing the 

shape would be

shadow of line in the

crease of the awning you

stretch up your eye when your

heart shivers right

next to mine and we stutter our

harrow to breathe now like blood

showing red on our sleeves.

smoke here is so heavy that it hurts my eyes to read and all the words are

poorly spelled

and some are compounds of a couple strings

of words

impossible to read aloud without a constant stumble

over crude

dyslexic text

the product of some midnight rambling.

has no plot or topic not

the outcome a complex thought

but trite and trotting on the spot

a lax and lulling burnout.

…I walk the bridge

unto expanded consciousness

with deliberate breath

drawn slow, deep and controlled until lungs are perfect full, then a

graceful exhale of everlasting even gales, the grandest winds

from deep within

the common soul.

rigid and unkempt so a jerk with the feel of it

taught is the skin in the stretch of a face-lift the

horror of smile pulled back beyond jaw

bearing teeth like a beastly young

mammal in heat and

eyes pulled so wide the lids tear sockets pried not a

tear like “I cry” but the 

splitting of sides.

drench myself in sorrow this is my own

burden shallow but yet

deep enough to wallow in and not too thick to

swallow whole, ingestion I

allow and now knee

deep in this digestion steady process of the breaking down this

churning is too loud

The thought is fat and fuddled and it lolls about my throat and mouth but does not slip lip.  It grows and shrinks and twists.  My tongue is too thick and my lips are too swollen and though the words are little individuals they cannot escape.  They squish and slide through tongue and teeth until they are a sticky mass of sludge; my voice stalled by this mouthful of fat filth. And the thought, my tongue, it flicks and flops like a fish on dry surface, three feet from the shore.  It writhes with that same angry agony; the desperate plea of a failure when so close to vindication.  It is frantic.  It is pitiful.

And I am my tongue.  I am my thoughts.  Sticky, thick, frantic and pitiful.  I want to go home.

So focused, a bead of sweat shivers, a

side-to-side slither and

slipping the noose, now the whole string is stripping and

beads flying loose, so like chain grinding chain or

tooth clinking tooth

they chime

unto a floor so up and below that the clatter of fall is

unheard through the uproar of taught 

string vibrations and deep angry rhythms now soft still abrasive the

heave of some weight.

and 

although so unseen we can feel the beads

rolling round under feet 

in our soles they slide deep

wedge themselves in the creased rubber groove holes of our

dirty sneakers

.

and all of the

while our palms remain tethered by 

strings of our sweating now dangling bare and we

wipe them on jeans

hang our palms like loose chains

lazy aching for contact

and tracing some

phantom of

holding each other.

I apologize because I know that

this is not your style, I’ve always

tried to bend to you

appeal to you

for sake of you

but over-bent I

folded through

I weakened me

became untrue.

.

my self besides, so long I drifted 

unidentified

and letting simple little anger

turn to hatred couldn’t separate from

senses left off common sense I turned away

I let escape

neglected all the ways you saved me

certain you caused all my failure

blamed you for my self derangment

sure that you tried to contain me

but I’m not weak like I was then

at least

I’m stronger than I’ve ever been and

I can know now my own faults

without ignoring yours as well.

see,

once upon a time you saved me

raised me up from holes been digging

seventeen long years of suffering and

taught me how to manage living.

now I will do the same for you I’ll

lead you to a concrete truth

to recognize your sheltered view as

inhibited and

overdue

and show you growth you can’t deny

like child-bones that reach for sky

beneath your skin and

out of it

awaken your 

new consciousness

and get you closer

make you stronger

show you love that does not falter

give you the new heart in me

the heart it took to make me free and know that

it has now begun,  I 

see my love in everyone

and their love lives inside me too

and part of that is part of you.

this will be another empty metaphor about

the ocean

waves and crashing sea salt water pouring slamming rocks

eroding, this

will be another useless narrative about

the ocean

lapping calm and soothing lull of

waves that snake across some shore but

I have never seen the ocean, that is solid truth

I can surmise what it might sound like from some

inland lakes and river currents

but my

metaphors are groundless, sealess you might say, and frankly

I’d rather not talk about it, but

I can’t escape that taunting

imagery that’s

haunting me to

let it free I’ll have to just indulge in the

unforgiving contradictory assumption

that I could

contain the ocean

without ever knowing

not that I could just

contain the ocean

had I ever known it.