Sta.sh
i.
you are in love with being in love
like you're caught on the train tracks,
tied down by want, waiting for that
insistent collision to
steal you away into the land
of concussions and self-medication
and hearts that barely heal
ii.
and stories confessing the notches
in your bedpost, the lines in
your smile. the sour note in your
liberally dissonant melody.
iii.
you did not want tangibility
cotton trees cascading and butterfly
innards, serenading clouds and
fluorescent lips
(until the sky came crashing down
and you reoriented the earth)
iv.
you did not want me
v.
I am solid and as notable as
the ghosts sleeping in your ears,
their snores telling time as
the days blur together
I am not of starry kisses and
back porch promises-
I am the wrong kind of accident
on the train tracks.
I am broken,
(but not in the right way)
vi.
I am real
vii.
these are the things we carry with us:
a knife in the side and a
cramp in the lungs; a longing
in the mouth for words or tastes
or people or something more, lyrical
lamentations lingering in our footsteps
like echoes and
barren smiles (like imitations)
viii.
you will yourself so far into these days
there's no way you'll find a road
back home
the territory's barren and deserted
(like the inner lining of your ribs
you cannot shed)
ix.
it's an icy morning when you finally
catch the stalwart echo in the breeze
of the people you locked up long ago,
twice for luck, in a chest of wood and
limitations, under your bed. the frigid
dawn carries its vocal inflection and
vivid reflection
x.
when it whispers, you don't
wake up
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Wow.
these are the things we carry with us:
a knife in the side and a
cramp in the lungs; a longing
in the mouth for words or tastes
or people or something more, lyrical
lamentations lingering in our footsteps
like echoes and
barren smiles (like imitations)"
Favorite stanza.
You use such incredible imagery. This piece is overflowing with it.