always how would it feel to go on without yous
trimming delicately the worth of self like caspari
or doilies tapering grace on slender night stands.
the japanese beetles,
black widows surround your faith,
the opossums suck the stomach and eat your brain,
life goes on.
all that is done is done.
I used to be beautiful
before marriage loosened
and wrinkled my face
like old leather,
scratched & dented with wear,
torn open by new life
And sewn back up again to tear.
I used to be happy before
The anger seeped deeply into
My heart, caging my soul
and the freedom to fly
sculpting my face with a sneer
that will show after I die.
I used to laugh and imagine
my life ever increasing,
With a hand to always hold
On a porch I’d be rocking
I used to believe in great spirits,
paint the divine in royal colors,
I would blast music from dawn til dusk
and breathe gratitude.
I used to wear my spirit confident,
reading and writing, delighted
by a warm cup warming my hands.
I used to adventure down winding roads
to widened water bodies for silence.
I used to love.
Ancient forests moan, roots
I scream softly
your name a thousand times, still
begging you to hear me.
Aches of I never should have left
your magnetic magnitude
of giving to the homeless,
our silent walks through trashy
the blurry surroundings,
my immediate warmth to you.
I miss you daily,
the mandalas drawn in plea for
understanding why God begets pain,
how love will set me free
I do believe, and nothing.
A wall and chains of choices keep
my body bound, my spirit residing
with infinite alms outside of your temple.
The mechanical is
all I can handle when
thinking on your love.
Like scars across
a moonlit sky
carved by travelers
my looking on.
My gut hangs on
the ledge of sewage,
my tears a melodious haunt,
my name an interrogative ending.
swallow & quiet.
Bones ache to tremble,
cry to sleep
that heavy of rising
or want to sink.
Strings of arachnid ghosts,
of flying swell to stings,
My world quakes at the drop of a tear,
a frown the size of God.
Each step shatters a kingdom.
A life for a life.
That nagging feeling
like invisible others in the dark,
in the night, down the hallway,
I think of you when I shit.
Mindless banters of worry and whatif, I think of you
as I kiss the ambrosia cheek of
my first born son, or when dawn awakens tree singers
and bullfrogs bellhop their last yawns.
I think of you standing abroad,
staring into suns of a bleeding orange glow, standing there, naked as a baby in my arms, symbiotic and high.
There may be no tomorrow where you’re coming from and no before where I exist, but when I feel that nagging breath on the memory of my neck I shutter, shit seeping.
We were all babies,
some cute some not.
Now, we are adults having babies
that are cute no matter what.
Soon, we will be old, stinky,
and then dead to rot
as earthworms eat our eyeballs.