Lines & Linens

In dark times
our own mortality,
thin as muslin,
brushes an earlobe,
unlike a lover, yet
lightly as a whisper

as this seductress touches
the soft spots,
a veil of adverbs
fall at our feet, deflated
as exhaled balloons,
Thule tends to hold nothing back.

In a single explosive moment
at the end of a whip,
we can only become
deafened and blinded on impact,
and it is inherently
common to cower
and not move
for fear-
For fear opposes bravery
and bravery takes nerve,
and nerves become raw
and thin
as muslin
rubbed back into cotton bolls.

Under this gossamer appearance,
what is soft
has been made to be
rid of
swords and armor
such as grown wild
or naturally part of We.


Painting by Henry Robert Morland (1716-1797), 'Woman doing laundry' in Public domain.

Prince of charms

I see him clearly behind the wall
furtively tending to the ritual
of opening wounds
while he wields his favorite knife
which resembles a bottle of Tequila
and he stabs himself
repeatedly
with audible barbs-
the kind that go in and you cannot
pull them out
you must pull them through.

And when I forced a look at him,
I saw the glimmering round shield,
blood spattered red cheeks,
his brow beaded with sweat from lifting
the load so long, carrying it wrong,
he ached, he moved in pain.

And the artillery unleashed
with words flying like arrows
and feelings popping like brittle
burning wood while smoke
circled his buried head
and instead of his precious blade,
he pulled out a small smile-
sweetly
in his shining armor,
while looking away from the glare
he managed to mumble-
you know I love you. 

I was never sure
who he was aiming at.



Image credited by UVM Libraries Digital Initiative 'Sword_sharpener_practicing_his_trade', published asa postcard c. 1909 in Public Domain.