Tears: A Haiku

Emptying my eyes
of all the salty lies you
would have me believe.

Forget Sentiment

Sometimes
you pour your heart out
in to a few empty tea cups
to see how it settles and warms.

Sometimes you chew
on the remnants of days
to taste their dull bitterness again.

Clouds pass
and rain falls in the garden.
The wind whispers her name
and you fall asleep
knowing that it isn’t for pity
but for a brighter sense of the world
that you strive everyday.

Spreading out a map of the world,
you colour in all the places
you’ve been in your dreams.
Paris is deep blue
and all the southern states
are gently shaded in pastels.
The coasts have been highlighted
so that they’re slightly heavier.

This poem that you have been writing
is filled with too much of her.
It imprints the ominous outline of her smile
and pulls the strands out of you one by one.

Forget history.
Forget sentiment.
Perhaps some things were meant
for you alone. To hold and harden
like the brightest diamond.

The Way of the Day.

Shall we dance,
friend of my heart?
Tracing trails of silver moonlight
with the toes of our feet
and the fingers of our beating hearts.

Tempting and heavy
is the gaze
and so full of eagerness
and badly hidden innocence.
Our awkwardness is
earnest at least.

On an island in the pacific
a young girl is laid down
for the first time
and listens to the stories of the old gods
and the stars.
And a dark skinned, blue eyed boy
sets his little paper boat
afloat on the swelling tide
and watches it burn
slowly.

In the light of that
smallest star of the sea
how can we smile indifferently
and throw ourselves at the world
with hats and scarves and envelopes full of truths?

But how can we not?

Alcohol and Anticoagulants (or Warfarin and Wet Kisses)

Your open lips I have
encountered of a night
when, dulled and nulled
by phosphorous light,
we may have danced.
I cannot be sure
for eyes were blinded,
memory poor.

I entered this dream
like a room without door,
the ceiling all stars
and a blackened wood floor.
A small gentle mouse
with some grays in his coat
breathed his last gentle breath
and opened his throat.

And I knew then that life
would be always like this:
that the ones you had loved
would be the ones you would miss.
So i steeled myself
to the darkened abyss
and settled my soul
in your warm, twisted kiss.

Cropped Photos Only Show Smiles

On and on
night after night, it continues
Like a toothless saw
against hard wood,
just getting more
jagged and broken.

Twenty two years of
bottled aggression,
monogamy and
indecision.
Testing the faith
of every fresh young face,
every heart not yet
crippled from
the weight of the world
and the length of
the road ahead.

And if this all
does indeed lie
ahead of us,
the way it does
in bad films
and tv specials,
why is it so difficult
to forget your face?

No, no, no!

I would like to express my disbelief and sorrow
at the deletion of the blog Good At Getting Better
by the extremely talented and valuable ‘krkbaker’.

Kim,
I don’t know what made you delete it,
against the advice of all,
but I wish you all the best.

I feel like i have lost a dear friend…..

Women

For you
we destroy ourselves.
Our livers, our minds,
our sense of self.
My sense of self.

Life is full of little puzzles.
And some are designed to be beaten
or broke
and some
are designed
to beat
to break.
But the really puzzling part:
each step I take away,
you take two towards.

And by the time you look down
and notice your hands are wet,
the damage is already done.

Hate Love

I’d bet that 

every man who meets you

falls in love with you.

 

Without words.

They have little knowledge

but they know it

in their hearts

 

And as you walk away

each one feels 

that small rush of panic

and the pull of nails.

 

And for not exactly 3 whole seconds

they hate themselves and

the world and 

everything in between.

 

But they don’t know why,

not in their heads.

Only in their hearts

Experience

Life is a concrete sex embrace
wild with stars.

A blind secret,
dark as holes in the sky.
Stiff. Yesterday’s decayed women.

Free from joy and desire;
Almost always love rots men’s hearts
as only it can.
It is the colour of the young.

Pierce me. Bleed me. Moist with your kiss.
Warm. Cold. Think. Kill. Die.

But dazzle my peace,
WE WERE BORN!

wild grief

Your wild grief scares me.

It flows from you like
so many liquids
and pours hard and fast.
I intrude on it,
like stepping in milk that isn’t mine and
treading it into your carpet.
Back and forth i trudge.

Like a great beast
in the final throws of death.
That great gold spear that
pierces your lungs and
up it comes.
All that bile and froth that was hidden.
You are no longer who you were.

And I, unable to reach out with my hands
and take your shoulders and calm you
with all that mass of hair
so tangled and forlorn,
slink away to nurse my own.

It is quiet and faint and
will always dwell
deep in my heart.