A creative writing blog
Her as a ghost ship ferry
in your fever dream,
scarcely rippling the water,
cradling you out to sea.
Her as a forgotten word
you utter upon waking,
quivering and stark,
stitched into the ether.
Her as fog in moonlight,
drifting through the window,
filling the empty spaces,
spiking your drink.
Her as a note without a song,
speaking through the birds,
falling through the tree limbs,
seeping into your symphony.
On the day of tilting fog,
I swam away from your machine.
Do not linger.
After the curtains
have been drawn,
do not await the last
faint echo of applause.
Leave with the music,
the roar, still breezing
through your bones.
After the sun sets,
do not await the night
to bring its first shivers.
Leave while the last rays,
the fading, fiery hues
still warm your lover’s
fragile, twirling fingers.
When you feel love
begin to sallow,
do not await a spark
delivered by divinity
to reignite your passion.
Leave before the memories
turn bitter and blue.
When your final fire fades,
do not cling to life, for
your body will be buried
deep within the Earth,
hurling round the sun,
dancing in cosmic harmony
with countless stars that
do not linger.
Woven into my first memories of youth-- play, boundless skies, rows of cornfields passing endlessly from the foggy back-seat window, goodnight kisses soft as snow-- the darkness endures. Sobbing into my pillow as a child, then flipping it to the dry side before falling into fitful sleep, for no particular reason at all. Nightmares of being orphaned, left out in the rain, forgotten, the winter night deepening as I, coatless, began to shiver. Then it followed me into manhood, whispering to me, keeping me up at night, bringing me to the brink of its fathomless depths. But darkness, I have steeled myself with the hard edges of your company. Amidst the shadows you cast over me, I learned how to endure. So I raise my glass to you tonight, timeless friend. You have been, and always will be, with me. My only hope is that in our remaining time, the ride will be wild and free, boundless as the skies of my youth.
In the periphery of my dream, in the boggy, blue-black dark, a willow leaf fell, twirling, landing softer than the winter’s first snow. But despite its dreamy distance, I woke with its taste on my tongue. It lingered all morning, guiding me inexorably toward some end known only by the leaf. Where are you taking me, I implored? No response. Under that leaf’s spell, I walked all through the morning, deeper and deeper into the woods.
What deforms the hearts of men
when they unite before a flag?
Saints and statesmen trade their reigns,
won with blood of friends and kin,
but all their spirits wane and thin
till only hollow husk remains,
and the dregs fill the front lines,
and the grunts trip the landmines,
and the tankers line up in the square,
and the answer becomes no more clear.
Let the moon drape its pallid hand
over valleys and hills of elsewhere.
We have our own night to sidle into,
and starlight will rip open its doors.
The cards that hold my fate
passing from one hand to the next.
Now they’re with my mother,
meager in her means and manner,
pacing through a patchwork room,
too terrified to turn them up.
Now they’re wrested from her grip
by the gods I’ve disavowed.
They read them and weep laughing,
then discard them in disdain.
Now they’re with a wily woman
falling out of love with me.
She casts me one last feeble frown,
then throws them to the waving wind.
Now they’re in the hands of none,
bobbing in a blue, shapeless sky.
I feel no pull to give them chase,
so I sit and watch my fate go by.
Gone are the mornings of mullioned light
shifting languidly over her bare skin,
carrying dust that dances and swirls
before settling indifferently over the room.
Gone, the nights of our gait unsteadied
by drinks shared along moonlit streets,
the scent of wine faint on her breath
as she twirls and falls into my embrace.
Gone is the love, dismantled and reduced
to fleeting dreams and remembrances,
weightless as morning light shifting
over the empty side of the bed.
For Anna
I have been chewed up
and spit out by life,
defeated, defiled,
haunted by specters,
plagued with poor luck.
But I don’t stand in pride
for having emerged
with my spirit unbroken.
I bow in gratitude
for having been given
the chance to struggle
for something I love.
Two-bit Time Bomb 