As A Child

I say that I am not a child

Yet I fall

As though my shoelaces were untied

Reaching for your hand

I say that I am hopeful

Yet I fall

As though the past remembers otherwise

Reaching for your hand

I know my grasp

Can be heavy and indulgent

You see my eyes

Lids like storm shutters

I say I am lucky

Yet I fall

As though the word spoken will change

Your hand in mine

Why am I falling

Carnival

Part I

The light movement
Flashes and presents the world
With a saturated existence

The spinning takes apart
The need to focus on this, on me
Carrying further without distance

Dark crisp air
Frenetic with the motion and light
Dew gathered on the sleeping

Rust began to nip, creating
The patina of use and decay
Touching, finality played out
Among the lotharios and glassy eyed

Clinging to the underneath
Flitting from view
The horses can’t escape
Caught in the repetition

Frozen
My hands glide on the surface
Polishing the memories
To the barely perceivable finish

I follow the line
That follows me

Swirling among the deviants
Crossing red shoe again and again
Footing becoming steady with this tide

The air is tinged with lost youth
A chance to ride again and circle without feat


Part II

So isolated and perfect
Huddled in black
Swinging hair and glimpsing back

The eyes follow and spin on
Seemingly repetitive, but more so
Caught and held

The movement stirs within
Closer to the core
The stars pressing
Swinging up

The mystery is still a mystery here
Unobtainable, farther from the words
Mute articulations
Grasping at the night, hugging closer

The pattern re-emerges
Spinning and light
Throughout within

Cycle
Cycle
Cycle

You're It

When tensing I
Go into myself.
However, not for the simple
Stay.

Teasing the attributes
Of apprehension,

Establishing rules,
But faceless discrepancy
Is sneaky.

Touching base,
Are we safely harbored,
Or does the intent entail
Retreat?

November

I know where I stood for a while was fine
But the little landscapes and houses of fire
Were there beyond
Perceptible but still distant
Stamped hard into that nowhere self

I clasped my hands
Sat on my heels and
Wished that the choices were easier

My eyes already down again
The gravity of cognizance
Thumb in mouth considering the loss
That behind meant

This focus was a split
A needle balanced
And shifting would wreck and surrender
The acknowledgement of impermanence

I am driven to hold still
Uncomfortable and unsatisfied
But still on familiar ground
My hand settled by old patterns

So I sit and wait

Love, the Interlude

For years I fought, thinking my
Entanglement was imposed onto me
By some outward source
The willingness of lost control

Amongst our heady fights and caresses
I was happy to bite and whirl, limbs splayed
Then return to my normal cage of constraints
Away to build again, what we knocked down

I wanted to strip and leave myself tacked
On your walls, some consciousness left to view
Your dalliances without my heart intact

In my room, above the twin bed, by the window
The imprint you left was soft, but some nights
It glowed with defeat and fatigue

We were cutting ourselves
Like wild animals, sparing and lusting,
Ripping shreds in ourselves, self-defeating youth

Still, when we were poured out and exhausted
I felt the emptiness swell with you
A calling across this void

After unclenching my fists
I found your hand still, in mine

In Knowing Who I Am Not

I

The definitions were placed
Like strips of cloth
Soaked in plaster
Pressed into the constructed mold
The fingers pushing the frayed edges
Intentions filling rather than created

The viewer picks the method
Of observations
The mold is easy to pick up
Look through broken eyes
Shaping the viewer instead
These instincts of self reflection
Are betrayals
Why use me to see yourself?

II

The haze in the photographs
Hides the lines at odds
The face crooked, smiling unease
Like a bear in the cage
Claws in eyes

Filter yourself
It is not me anyhow
We are not these surfaces

Price

I fear this price
What is demanded?
A prick of blood
Years of unknowing,
Dead, like sleep
The name I refuse to call

My worth is tempered
With steel, and heart
Folded in my pockets
Hidden from the numbers
Calculated and offered

I know that you see
My hand, bent back
Covering in modesty
My allowances, tested
With your overreaching and
Insincerity

I may glance under eyelashes
Reaching you
Evaluating the risk

This weight
The price of words to me
Can sit and fill
Spilling

Why is it you are charged
By a glance under eyelashes
Or a glimpse of my flesh
Do you see an imprint of my worth
Behind the soft hair on my neck
the numbers changing with age