Hypocritical Chronicles of a Covetous Nature in Poetry

My Sun
|It’s like I’ve never felt the Sun before.
-----|But Sun is where I’m from.
-----|I’ve been away so long
----------|I forgot living was living
----------|and not
---------------|dying.
-----|Sun like thick, warm juice of yellow.
-----|Sun like I scraped my knee sliding into 2nd.
-----|Sun so good, we’re day owls now.
----------|We’re birds with wings, not of wax, but air.
---------------|One with wind of temperate warmth and that which carries melody.
----------|Merry trills met by flame-kissed ears of martyrs like me–
--------------------|boy, it burns the bitter from my bones–
-------------------------|that sound–
-------------------------|a dagger in the heart for each Sun I’d missed.
|I hope it ends on a sunny day.
-----|I hope it all goes in righteous flame.
----------|We’ll stand naked, on the asphalt, hopping
--------------------|toe
------------------------------|to
-----------------------------------|toe,
---------------|salivating over dreamsicles.
---------------|A dream of yesterdays.
----------|A dream come true comes without parole,
---------------|for rotten chill of darker days cleans the mind of torrid memories.
--------------------|Miss it, do we, the itch of perspiring skin.
---------------|Skin, brown-baked and coconut-scented.
---------------|Skin, bare and oiled.
---------------|Skin against skin,
--------------------|between sands,
-------------------------|and under waves.
-------------------------|Memories of better days.
---------------|It’s like I’ve never felt this Sun before.
--------------------|Because I haven’t.

My Moon
|Moon.
|Incandescent, breath-giving thing.
-----|A welcome depression to the dead and dying,
----------|revives the quiet with excited chill.
-----|No rays outstretched pining for mortal flesh,
----------|but coy,
---------------|unencumbered by the thought of other things.
-----|Other things like me.
----------|Other things with a body wished invincible–
---------------|invincible in the absence of other eyes.
----------|Other things to revel, like witches, in smoke and fire.
---------------|Freedom is that which I feel under its pale sheen–
--------------------|freedom for fingers tipping with electricity
-------------------------|and feet flung from Earth’s surface.
----------|There is power in the Moon.
---------------|A teal wash of the universe,
--------------------|a beauty found only in a Grecian urn.
---------------|Power to lift the anvil from my chest,
--------------------|to wash the mud from my eyes.
-----|The Moon grants me wishes.
-----|The Moon loves my stories.
-----|The Moon is cold and distant,
-----------------------------------|and faithful.
----------|Dying each dawn in a thousand soft blues of lilting accord–
---------------|I kiss the Moon away to charm the lives of other things.

My Killing
|I dream in red.
-----|A rage unyielding crowds my head,
---------------|my arms, my legs;
---------------|they’ve known weaker days.
-----|My Lolita, she’s a violent bitch.
----------|Single bullet between the eyes,
---------------|not a second to utter words from once-living lips.
-----|I don’t hate you.
----------|I just like acting on my apathy.
----------|Acting– I hope that’s all it is.
---------------|But, who made that smile crawl upon my mouth of broken teeth?
---------------|Who made my idle fingers play in pools of blood?
--------------------|Me.
--------------------|It is me who loves the Killing.
-------------------------|The absoluteness–
-------------------------|the “no going back” of it all.
--------------------|The arrogance of a man dissipating by my hand,
-------------------------|in a calculated strike
-------------------------|of vermilion bloom–
-------------------------|be it something that calms my savage heart,
-------------------------|in savage fight,
------------------------------|despite the singularity at its core–
------------------------------|that’s power I’d kill for.

My Sea
|Ink-colored poison poised on tips of living daggers.
|Little sense in savage eyes of little-known monsters.
-----|Looking up.
----------|At me–
---------------|Sweet meat.
----------|Each inch of indigo exists my brand new Hell.
---------------|A stomach-churning,
--------------------|skin-crawling,
-------------------------|nerve-wracking place of kracken.
---------------|I’m Europa on my way to Crete,
--------------------|except I’m on Europa’s icy back.
-----|Hold me as I seize
---------------|relentlessly.
----------|I’m epileptic for the Sea–
----------|a brain on fire for the water of which is not my nature.
---------------|Do I have gills or webbed feet?
--------------------|Or, does my soft belly flesh look like a roast dinner?
----------|The pool has taken to play tricks on my mind
--------------------|with each unseen corner being the origin of wet creatures.
----------|God, I’d slit my throat before floating on my back
-------------------------|on that perplexingly gorgeous, viridian deceiver.
---------------|”I’d get stuck in your teeth!”,
--------------------|I wish I could say
-------------------------|to hungry Earth aliens.
--------------------|That’s it!
--------------------|I’ve been probed!
--------------------|Delusions withstanding.
-------------------------|I’ve got sea sickness
------------------------------|and, yet, a love for the sea.
--------------------|I can finesse a jibe on a cold, sunny day;
-------------------------|weather the waves of nature’s hot temper;
-------------------------|but, tell me to dip my foot in still open-water?
-------------------------|Death sounds a most reasonable course.
------------------------------|Ten stabbings for the sailor!
------------------------------|I’d rather be gutted
----------------------------------------|like a fish.

My Killing Me
|Grossly discordant is an Eb played on my dead heart.
-----|It’s Louis’s holiday trumpet against my humid depression.
-----|A snail rotting in its shell, I retreat into myself–
----------|I mean, fall. I fall. I am falling… asleep.
--------------------|And at such a precarious time!
-------------------------|You’ll just miss it! I mean me… I’ll just miss it.
------------------------------|… all of it.
------------------------------|The whole enchilada.
-----|But, when I was lucid, I told myself “missing it all” was bad.
---------------|And, I mean really bad. Like, really, really bad.
----------------------------------------|I forgot why…
----------|So, I’m in it still,
---------------|but only|----------|just.
----------|In it enough to “attend”
---------------|but|----------|out of it.
-------------------------|Comatose.
----------|Sweet, musty oil drips from the tips of my hair and my mind floats
---------------------------------------------|to
--------------------------------------------------|dreams
-----------------------------------------------|to
-----------------------------------------------------|never
---------------------------------------------|be
--------------------------------------------------|accomplished.
---------------|Dreams I’d love to sabotage.
--------------------|Dreams I don’t deserve.
-------------------------|But I want to be read like butter!
-------------------------|I want your grandma and your third grade teacher to
------------------------------|read me to you like I’m Shel Silverstein!
-------------------------|I want my words not read, but absorbed.
-------------------------|I want you to lay on me and soak me up effortless.
-------------------------|I want to be a part of the machination of time.
------------------------------|I want all of this to not be for nothing.

Last updated April 25, 2018