The Butcher’s Bones

Crushing, bleak and break,
the mechanisms of my matter
are corroded by salt —
they are choked with sand.

Ripping, tear and rake,
the solutions of my mind
are dry from wind —
they are thieved by sun.

River, ocean and lake,
the brittle hull of my bones
arches for touch —
it is weathered by surf.

Yet I am tethered by the gull’s cry,
a wrinkled goodbye —
you are terrible in ropes and weaves and cuffs.

Hope pleads the darkness from the butcher’s eye,
lips feed a thousand lies —
I cannot conjure love enough or trust
      before time turns our hearts to dust.

string lights on a skylight backdrop


If you need me, I’ll be right here,
right where you left me,
in ’94.

Familiar voices within,
somewhere stuffy, smokey, dim,
splashed with string lights,
right, they blink pink and red and white.

Incense and oil,
your breath in toil, the scream,
my ears ring, and rings cling,
and my lips shudder right.

Love … I’m right here,
right where you left me,
in ’94.

Dewy face, hyperspace,
curls and a joker’s grin,
the palms, throat, and thighs,
trapped right in the well of those eyes.

Melted ice and sweat,
the pulse and beat a threat,
such frenzy and heat,
and secrets to keep, but we’re right.


Right here,
right where you left us,
in ’94.

The Song

You can’t live on it — the feeling.
The contraction of a guitar string,
Such anticipation.
The tankard’s dark, swirling abyss,
Pulse softening.

You can’t live on it —
The flowering of the voice,
Mighty introduction.
The kaleidoscope of colors,
Primal attraction.

You can’t live on it —
The pained pleading chorus,
Lingering mourning.
The ear’s consumption,
Desirous firing.

You can’t live on it —
The final note’s breaking,
Grappling desperation.
The ghostly vibrations of silence,
Deafening denial.

You can’t, you can’t —
Not but for those moments of song,
Pitch pointed, perfect and pure,
Magnetic and hypnotizing in its way.

In those moments you can, you can.
You can live on it.

The Anniversary

Lines flag the throat and knees are noise,
but I remember the time back —
the easy sun when we were young.

Rotations and revolutions see tender changes,
from flowers, jewels and racing hearts,
to coffee drips, notes and evening’s tired hellos

There’s wear on the bridge and the back aches —
sameness fades as time rides the tide,
but I remember the time back —
when the fresh snows fall, or the calm rain,
the pour of a drink in a clean cup, or the ocean waves.

We, together, a timeless love song
that I cannot be without.