AllPoets-Literature

there is a prison frozen in an endless void an ocean of air devoid of motion it's all gone charcoal and slate as the body keeps the heart but shares its state

suddenly begun (found my new favorite word) my name on your tongue

still singing with a stolen voice. still falling in love with strangers. too many after-midnights:                                       manufacturing weather.                                       pretending not to understand the languages of hunger. as if the flapping birds you call your hands don't thrum with excess and joy alike. as if you are not forever lost: in these patterns.                                           in the mystery of laughter. as if you are not still just a visitor to your own body.

history repeats we test the wind for danger wounded animals

though never half as clever as the raging storms I named him let me be the pleasure in forgetting let me spend forever learning the ways you say unending

I want a wreck I can connect with some un- settled sun to be sung and soon strung from strings previously unattached a heartsong plucked in resplendent collapse breath snatched in gasps hands clasped spanning gaps and gulfs engulfed in our grasp a long longing that laughs as it lasts we'll make memories (a thing ofthe past)

neighbors disappear turning silence into art (delicate painting) hibernating heart embrace sleep so as to dream (beauty in waiting) gray skies stretch for months disguise a depth of feeling under freezing fog

oh, I see. she wants a steady hand, and smooth script stretching towards infinity. she wants those wanton words wrapped in needless syllables. she wants what she wants. what she wants is not this. not my short & stumbling text; one word tumbling toward the next. not these scribbled, sloppy secrets; chopped up and half-confessed. she'd much rather view a ten-cent vocabulary flexed... but I digress. my hopeless, broken english speaks volumes. (mostly, it talks about me.) sometimes, it says "hey! we're doing new & exciting things with heartbreak down here." sometimes, it just screams and screams and screams and screams - 'til

the past is a manic gray mass amorphous and embarrassed nebulous the present is a symptom