The Gift of Mor(t)ality

for the longest time I rode
side by side with mor(t)ality
on washed-out, winding roads, searching
for that one shred of humility
that led me back to mySelf

he was a hero of sorts —
with his relaxed posture &
those pearly-white teeth, easily slicing
through even the harshest bits of reality
as if they were nothing

& with just his lopsided smile
he always reminded me what it should feel like
to be human in an inhumane world.

For Miles

I have been traveling for weeks now
on this (dreaded) path you called a symphony
back
when I still heard the rustle of my mother’s clothes
& tried to suck the warmth out of her shadow
in passing

I will (never) get used to being
the one who waves at you
in the rearview mirror, determined
not to look back —
I guess
life is funny that way.

Far Off Shore

I remember when
the first words out of my mouth
were not infested by
meandering termites &
my tongue still
felt alive

I remember when
fortune was not just
a four letter word —
but a one way ticket
to favored utopia

I remember when
there was still
laughter in the rain &
my hand did not stray from
touching yours.

– age –

(Brainf)artistry

there is nowhere left to go
as I see your colorless fortitude
fade to crumpled bones and worn edges —
leaving you bare & stripped of
all those wonders you wore
like everyday clothing

& Instinct
uproots congeniality – while I
remain guessing at
whatever the fuck you said
in that certain moment
when longing turned to resignation.

may those presumptions crumble
and turn doubt to dust,
never to be cradled again.

Into The Gray

she shivers in the rain —
watches fragments of a promise
turn to asphalt tears
& swirl away to mingle with secrets
far beyond her grasp

she shivers in the rain —
while stoic words of an outcast
drip from her lips &
her tongue savors the sharp edges
of those foreign sounds
that taste like braille

time trips over itself
as she traces
the seams of quilted past
soon to be ripped once more
& all the while
she shivers in the rain.

Paper Cuts

your story lingers
not in those letters ~
your feeble voice
never ruffled fragile pages,
nor did your truth
ever drip from fear-tainted quill

your story lingers
not on the cover ~
you never made it through
the cracks that hold a symphony
of old & worn

your story lingers
in paper cuts, resonant
on eager fingers, now stilled ~
then
I still had reason
to decipher you.

Hourglass

broken-mirror-evening-sky-photography-bing-wright-thumb640
for just a little while,
my hindsight got tangled in the sheets.

when I emerged,
I saw cracks in heaven
& you —
deliberately strewn about.

_________________________
photo credits: demilked.com