Monday, April 6, 2015


I have holes
So many
And still
I sail
A fading pirate vessel
A gently rocking porch swing
An implanted lavender bush
Small and wan

And still the stars enter me
In tiny places
Laying broken
Crying on the dirty cold wood floor

A year
Two years
Eight or even twelve
Each one an eternity
A quarter of a second

And words

Electric songs of vibrating metal
Singing wordless
To the tips of the bits of me

My holes
I believe
Will make me whole

A step
Forwards, sideways, backwards, down...
They are still steps
A dance
My dance
The dance of broken things
Releasing in the hopes of finding release
Torture is time, twisting and writhing
And time is a gift
The only gift that matters
With eyes
The size
Of dying love dreams
Crusting hidden corners of a living heart