gravel.

so i think i'm right cold comfort. knowing the knife is coming doesn't stop the bleeding out. ironic that a communicator is so confined inside his skin. i want to say it my mouth so full of shame and spit the only sound gravel.

broken bone set crooked

so there it is all over again

the biting reminder of what never happened

it flashes so bright the electrical spark that numbs my head

and- sonofabitch- it came from the source.

romantic optimism, that nasty evil bitch,

makes me reconsider over and over if it meant something.

i dissuade myself and reconsider over and more

of course not, but what if?

the same circle that started this up again

i'm thinking about things that i shouldn't

i'm considering things that i shouldn't

will i ever know; would the shouldn'ts even lead me to know anyway?

i doubt it, but there it goes all over again-

what if it would?

these paths that brushed close have split

that ink has dried, that broken bone set crooked

never as strong as it used to be.

dilution.

 

the black bark of the receiving trees

this house is a graveyard
sitting on holy grounds and blackening the soils
full of what is not and what really weasn't
the memory lies as the perspectives change

ghosts in my graveyard
the black bark of the receiving trees
feeding from unusable husks shed in haste
whipping winds ringing through the night.

the ground shifts over time and
the blood of ink seeps up through the greying craggy peaks
risig like mountains into the night
jagged and unforgiving asking for more
taking only a single answer

the ghosts are black as coal
and burning just as hot
and they won't stop chasing me.
"come and face me, come and face me"
but i outrun them
praying for a way around a wall
though they promise safety and clean slates
though they promise cleaned hands
though they promise my futility
but there has never been trust.

black-red spirits following me like Japanses vampires
hopping
dragging their feet and leaving tracks
strewn in cursive text
leaving directions for the others

it is building.

cunning knives rest deep

its raining again
and its been raining for days

blood like ink like water
flowing away from straining fingers
and pulled quills.

somewhere the sun is shining

straight down her face
oblivious to contours
so fast
pooling at her feet

she
she spins
disappears through the door

it's my turn as defenses fail
the flood plains fill up and spill over
and over into sleep.

it's those dreams that i swear i've had before
or the dreams you swear are replays of real life
giving you the chance to say something different
regrets.

some dreams you know you're dreaming and it doesn't matter
if you scream out in the night
it doesn't matter who hears what you have to say
your second chances scream at the walls of your chest

and so you shout it out.
and you hear yourself in bed.
and you hear your second chances screaming
but it comes out in a whimper
mouth too full of spit and sleep and tongue

the sound of infants
the confusion of the mute
trying to spill out every emotion
every last word, every do-over you never had

and in the confusion
you kick and twitch, convulsing
and in the rage
you spit and grind teeth, eroding
and in the rush
your eyes flutter and furrow, repeating
every conversation you wish you could have finished before the phone hung up.
and then silence.

you wake up in bed in sweat and fear
heart races, eyes redden and unrestrained tears
and your lover is holding you in the confusion
and you're unable to process all the confusion
and you are exhausted from the marathon sleep
and you're unable to get back on your own feet
and for a split second you're holding her but it's not her
and for a split second she's telling you she loves you, but it's not her

the adrenaline filters out and the room goes dark again
and no more red.
and no more white hot.
dark. again.

the flood spills out and you can't say a word
not for lack of description;
shame.
for keeping secrets from yourself

---

i've dreamt of her for two weeks straight
and i can't tell my lover
her ears open her mind forgiving
but i can't tell my lover.

the interactions anachronistic
the reactions too kind
she left in peace with a piece


this green mile, the longest mile
the perfect length of rope
the sharpest, dirtiest needles.
the borehole.

cunning knives rest deep

the fire blossoms fight on

whispering winds
whipping winds
cutting near silently through clothing
identical.

The sun is on fire and is spreading
to the flowers in the garden.
so green, yet so red and orange and hot

it just hasn't hurt enough yet i suppose
so i dig my hands in deep,
turning the soil


these steps lead to nowhere but the empty garden
the glass rock and sheet rock lay in piles not ten feet out
and the fire blossoms fight on.

everywhere i've been is identical.

waiting for the night to slip in
quick as flies, swarming like bees
all around like a shallow grave.

my friends call like church bells ring
i can count on them for that
but they call for everyone
they expect to be heard but never hear a response
customs outweigh reason.

I go remembered and then forgotten
how i was but not who i am.

gravel is the ground

smashed wide open scattered white splinters to the wind and ground
red fluid flowing from the socket
the pink is pale is white
the limber is stiff.

this house built is flimsy
this banks has no safes
this ground is only gravel.
hard and unsteady.

defeat.

with data i can't delete 2: water everywhere

and now i see them get up
they depart with a content and worried look
its coming. the current is grounding out
the black wire draws the charge from the machinery.

the ghost in the gears is pulling levers now
its written out a million times
the actors merely playing the parts
single line by single line
at the end of each line is another on a blind turn
only those off the track see it.

poor bastard. poor bitch.
it will never be what you want
it can't.
the infatuation has it's own suicidal agenda.
the bleach knows what will lose its color
the river knows who
will be caught out, caught up
called out, drug under.

unforgiving water
unforgiving heavy water everywhere.


i wish i could call home
but the number's been changed a hundred times
and no one picks up anyways.