scatter

this is how we change–nautilus chamber, spokes of a wheel
some passion i don’t speak about. i see the growth curl, i see
it siphoning water and glory, i see its breath as it breaks through
the gutter and reaches towards the sky–my waist expands rotted
wood and i feel tendrils of myself steadying, then sinking, then
sinking. peat-moss fingers on me–i kiss them as i would the muzzle
of my lover’s gun and dose myself just to be sure–hazy smoke-filled
thought these days leaves me nostalgic for the past and angry about
what happened then, all those wrongs adding, multiplying, staggering
the numbers–just when i think i will tear you key from key you hit
depressed ivory notes and i can feel the terror in them, the quiet
hatred and the laughing crow and the white egret and the great
blue heron all become one sinuous figure in my mind, a summation
of all the greatest parts of my life–a raindrop staining a window that
you turn from when you hear someone call your name down a hall
in a house that is torn bit by ragged bit from my memory, until all
the edges are worn–i remember who has died and who has remained
and wonder who is the better for it. the sunglint is too much–it blinds
me with its radiant angle, its disastrous glare in the rearview of my
youth, and the sparksun becomes a single point of light–i press it
into your hand, then scatter.

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the SS Forgo

we are touched with fire

you have cut the clock into seconds when you think you are okay
when you have torn the captain’s badge from your shirt
and now no one can hold you accountable
no one will know

we sing songs of madness and desire

in a cage hanging off the side of a hospital,
a girl will sit and write in her notebook [having been allowed a pen]
and will write HELP over and over again
until she runs out of paper and must write between the scars

we purge ourselves of fear

how many times must you cut yourself
until all the bad is gone
until all the guilt is gone
until you yourself are gone

the ship is sinking. but you are convinced no one will know.
you throw out the logs, smash the compass, wipe your finger
prints from the wheel, from the walls, from this position
you never wanted–you only wanted to see the sea, you only
wanted to be enveloped by white-tipped waves that tasted
so familiar to you, that tasted of your own tears. you thought
you had left that girl in the hospital behind. but now she
watches you with eyes from the curl of the last wave as the mast
breaks and the people scream and you begin to wash the deck
with a bucket of your own blood.