Friday, February 25, 2011

hollow cost

the window frames
lean over and moan
like the most beautiful eyes
collapsing into sleep.

the neons flicker
and sentences
begin to trail off
into ellipsis-filled retreat.

in most cases
the casual estimate of contents
would be appropriate,
if not matter-of-factly expected.

but this routine is different,
what with catalysts aside,
comforts beside ones self,
and safety, safely tucked away.

it'll be morning soon.
and without proper alibi
and/or appeasing,
it'll soon be a night

of christ on a cross
noosed around our necks;
the devil in our hands,
cradling the pendulum.

Monday, February 21, 2011

without reprise, but revisited for lack of better words to send through the mail

even in the latest moments
of night, just before
the first -downward-
stabbing rays of sun
crash -belligerent-
through the skyline,
i ignite the streets i walk
with the last available slur
of intoxication
only to saunter off
into the shadows.

and still,
nothing more to say.

just playing card houses
worn from use,
identifiable by their worth
and just as easily spotted
in our hands.

the cusp of brazen jaws
grinding out the words
if only for the benefit of
aggressive sins
(found confused, confessed
and abandoned)
in the racket and blur
of an empty subway car.

the trains move faster
than we can abide
so the words leftover
crawl in sluggish
(albeit, foregrounded)
courtroom sentences.

a reason to
hone intentions
for better nights
spent searching
for mo(u)rning.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

make-out sessions and cemetaries

              (what they were,
              were keys,)
              yellow keys with blood
              splattered on them,
              in an attempt to mesh with
              a part of apart from the rest.

so we faded
in and out of
shapeless insomnia
            swaying into

the night,
growing fond of
such things;
         the ripples and
         folds of

            coveting, and
                    drumming it's fingers
                    outside my eyes, like windows,

  ( what she saw, there,
   were insects,)
        cadavers, and maybe,

               faceless smiling hands, and
               a moan in the dark
                                                three times,
                                                at least).