the sinking in
of mortality reality is
colder than the chill of wet skin
breaking the wind
the idle simplicities
of Being raise
the stark absence
of the one who always
looked out for me
(i could not lie to you
or hide from you
i always told you the truth)
and now i've got no one
to run to
my sisters keep me strong
but the hole is wider
than a week
my remaining lifetime
without
she's gone
the seams have been
ripped apart
and nothing fits
this body at 26
all the times
so unseemingly apparent
the void hangs heavy
in the hearts of need
and dependency
no answers
only questions
and bleak wondering
an abandoned home
no place to feel safe
or comfort in change

broken and bruised
exhausted and dry
impatient and aggravated
without a because or why

I only wanted to be here for 6 months.
Everything changed.
Belief in chaos
resurrected in the assurance
of adversity.
The inability for the consistency
proves futile
in the efforts of
regulation and reason.
Planning therefore
must be treason
to the name of present
insistence
blistered lips
and black nails
tangible trails
of a life
attempting living
dancing around the flame
of forget
and penance.
One cannot
raise
the ancient
from the dead
with raccoon cries
and smoldering alibis
when the road east
goes left
and chanting doesn't
summon the second
third coming
empty handed
philosophy
spoken
sunrise sunday
in the heart of fake
waning for mourning break
when scent captures
coat tails and
a disappearing tradition
grasping grasping
the transition
of the cosmic slave

skin of a drum

"And I can't become my father when it's all been said and done
His completions won't complete me
I've divided me by one, I'm the answer to his riddle
I'm the caution of his wind
I'm the spoon wedged between tongue and teeth beneath his trembling grin
And I dare add my revision for I dare not suffer twice and I dare not reinvent the past
And I dare not be the Christ and I welcome any sufferer
And I welcome any Steph
Sitting in this room, on wooden bench, waiting for Shawn to call
And I suffer here alone, Lord
Perturbed by my every thought
How I've tried to strip them to the bone I've struggled and I've fought
Every jealous warped intention, smuggled, sewn into genes
Every hidden mongrel tendency exploiting me in me

Each time I put them under but still they wanna test me
I cry out through the thunder...
You storm right past me...
I search and I ponder...
I question and wonder... I roar and I thunder, please, let me in

I've been waiting here for what now seems the better of an hour
I've raised every crippled question from the dead and given power to the absence of my sanity
The presence of a fear that lies in between forgotten dreams that pile up every year
Up above the highest testaments, down below the wooden floor
There's a gutted room, pitch black at noon, beneath a hidden door
Deep within, you'll find the attributes of every sunken woman
Who must bang her head against the dead each day she tries to stand
And she's standing pressed against the very man that she loves
Kissing eyes and lips, embracing hips, surrendering to his touch
And just at the very moment that she touches heart to heart
She pulls from his touch, 'cause it's too much to mend what's torn apart

Each time I put them under but still they wanna test me
I cry out through the thunder...
You storm right past me...
I search and I ponder.
I question and wonder... I roar and I thunder, please, let me in

It's so hard to be the woman I would be if hatred and fear no longer appeared
I swear I've become the skin of a drum, the heart of a man, divided I stand"


-Saul Williams, with my edits.

transfuse

the indigo passover
of clouds back lit by moon
a chilly april night
plays the wind chimes
i succumb to a hundred emotions
in the tide of red
i miss, i curse, i look forward
transition springs
(i'm losing things)
to calculate the shift of wind
becomes a tiring task
instead, i marvel overhead
hoping that onlooking
and participation
merit worth
even if latitudes and bank accounts
don't match

take me to oak hill
a finders keep
where the body finds function
and miles mean deliverance
when minutes don't matter
alongside sake of it
take me to oak hill
while firetrucks wait at home
because living is
all too electrical
and may moves closer to april

and we make it up as we go along

and the paint sticks to me
like white lined dreams
i can't bear waking early
when i know the day that
awaits for me
the orange alert
keeps me escapingly tucked
in lavender trenches
toll roads aren't only for change
they are
what makes one sane
in the fleeting game of make
before you believe

bate

it's too late for orange surprise
and too early for the painting
of white lines
up for no good
up from where i should
too bitten to be sure
too scattered to be her
the comfort of myself
never felt so good
even though the marks
show through
this 26, savory and un
brinking the perfect run
makes the perfect shape
in the outline of bate

over easy

burdens unfold
like an open road
the heaviness hangs
in concrete gray
the notion of love
reserves itself
only for blood
finding my feet
in a horizon of contrails
and life's ceaseless continum
is a task
as daunting as aging
but the silky blanket
of fluid movement
keeps my bare feet
shuffling on hot pavement