Cardiac muscle

 

Any-one-of-Us

who have heard

the shattering of a heart,

of a world

fragmented, knows the 

intent to deafen each piercing note...

Those of Us 

who have struggled with intruding songs and scents, 

are stuck in a triggered trap, clamped

between sharp teeth

and resisting no more,

alone. 

Some of Us 

disagree 

with how lovely it is to have lost

than never have had

played a game we did not know.

Intuition, like embers emit no smoke,

but deep connections 

lean candle flames without a breeze.

It can be felt,

on fingertips, burnt leaves, ashes-

heat is Life.

Death is a dampening, silent

as in, buried Alive.

And I know

how these memories 

refuse departure.

On the ancient land where I now stand-

my story is held momentarily

footprints in the red dirt 

alone, cauterized, singed, 

and dappled with sunlight.

Fire with fire.

Most of Us

will not get that close

ever again.

None of Us

understand 

the heart that burns

and beats without Us

skipping over

tiny details like nails

hammered into the heartwood. 

Artwork by: Sigmund Grimm, dated 1520 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Hatchling

An open invitation,
gilt in possibility
lures the timid beast from its musty cavern

The cacophy of air rushing around the
least resistant, matters are pushed and pulled upon
Certainties, tossed about

Potentials

The sudden hail defies the timid pleas
to unfold and stretch into
a solid lain beam of radiant heat

How could the mortal help himself anymore:
Gather, hunt, peck and reorder survival skills
Such as Love and Hate

Coming down

In various degrees of murder and rebirth
Springs forth
Colorful codes saturated with noise
and clashing heads with tails

The now bleeding ink pools
and blurs your name
craddled under ashen light,
limp and holding onto remorse
absorbed into pulp and grain limbs.

The sky showed no where
Safe
Welcoming
these evolutions
without debate thy will has been
done.

Spring inflates its toll
on the feral sheltered soul
Whose i's have been gouged out in disbelief,
and now blinded by the most elemental
Considerations.

The beast grows
weary and anxious
trying to stand upright
under these conditions,
dissuasion and doom
overshadows the occasion
to fear or be feared.



Artwork by William Blake, 'The great red dragon and the beast from the Sea' c. 1805 in Public Domain. 

The old flame

I have been sucking on rage
                    like a Jolly Rancher
                    all day-

They say
sucking calms coughing
                        fits, since we cannot do both
simultaneously.

The sun is blazing behind
                               the thunderheads
                               making the air tepid-

Did I mention the fire
                        coursing under the skin
                        causing the concrete to ripple
                         and fingers to spark?

Steam smolders in pillars from atop fences
as if the candles
were blown out.

Love and Hate, like thermodynamics,
                          compromises

I stand in between
with my lips stained red,
             a saccharin taste of cinnamon
that was once my favorite

reminds me
of our in-
consistencies.

Still,
I struggle to breathe.





Painting by Henry John Stock (1853-1930) in Public Domain.