Writing-To-Save

Wrack and ruin You entangled in the jetsam of a past Lasting scars upon your dreams Wake in screams and shakes Memory breaks and thunders Sundered on the lee shore Of once upon a time But nevermore. Look away in fright When the lighthouse fires were out Now the doubt Like heavy fog it lies upon the broken beams The whispers of surmise Lisping misdirected blame The scarlet stain of shame you wear Should not be yours to bear The weight of eyes that stare, The hate, the guilt The ship of living hopes you built Went down with all souls lost And you are drowning in the cost. The captain goes down with the ship But your grip on life was strong

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I have always sought balance, Perpetually on the brink of tumbling The pivot point around which I spun, lost And I, forever seeking. For years, My light yearned for darkness My spring requited in your autumn Between us, a sea change Farther tides and freshening wind And evening star to steer by. You limned my sails in silver light To launch this ship of dreams My misplaced hopes And your unfounded apprehensions Meeting like flint and steel To set worlds alight.

Counter Clockwise. Middle finger on her Left hand- Marred with one long white cat-scratch-scar- Unlike its counterpart. Twirling, twirling, round- Around And around And around- Always counter clockwise. Like a whirlpool far at sea. Instead of waves of blue and green, Honey and creme are sucked Deep into the core of the cyclone. One nail snags into Her hair and she Scrunches up her nose- A rabbit wiggling to smell- Disgruntled, And dislodges her finger From the tangled mess She's made of her hair. She goes back to reading her book. A smile slowly spreads my mouth As the girl I've never met Begins to twirl her Always counter-cl

Revisited 10/28/2012 - Read by disrhythmic HERE. I. Salt in the cemetery licked at the lacking and Lacquered ribcages of centuries old hulls— Hulls and albatrosses overhead like Broken ribs and severed sternums. Masts akimbo and off-kilter, wood stained To the marrow by the fresh saltwater from the shore Of the Aral Sea; beached, sunk in the speckled Sand, like the words of a guilted verdict, A flotilla of past-flown ships and craft Plunge further into the pebbles and topsoil. The decay of humanity and humus emergent, Each vessel was a well-rested relic reliant on The sun to circumnavigate the pearlescent skies, For the ve

i. don’t let an artist fall in love with you if you can’t bear the shape of your own mouth or the lines and curves of your body or if you cant stand to have foggy moments translated into some short lasting form of sense they will take all the beautiful (and broken) pieces of you and make you into something only they can understand ii. don’t fall in love with an artist unless you’re a blank canvas because they will paint upon the dark spots and write in the empty spaces of you even without meaning to because their hands are dirty with paint smears and ink blots and wishful thinking but they will not posses you so

half the time i never wake - i lie half-sleeping under stars made of the flash of headlights on oil spills and smell the gasoline-stench of dreams as they try to breach the breakwater of my eyes. insomniac, they say, and i just listen, half-alive - scientists wonder why we need sleep and i can only say, we don't. sleeping leads to dreaming and not a single soul needs that kind of disappointment, anymore. but sometimes i find myself just shuddering into sleep, disjointed, falling through the rabbit holes found in zeroes of one o'clock, two - and as i wake to shimmering sunlight shining through the blinds, across the walls, i find it's