September’s Benevolence

There is a breeze
Grass soaking wet-
An ocean gossamer of all things Autumn and old
All things ethereal and elusive,

Gleaming nectarous in some distant bliss
Is the moon and we hold hands
Attached by habit “Mother leave me be”
I say halfheartedly half-wanting half-hopeful,
Tonight will extend into forever,
I say, I say but having swallowed the blackberry briers
My mouth only bleeds

She’s silver flowing and still
Dressed in spiderwebs,
Shadows casting such presence transcendent,
Perpetually followed closely by an entourage,
And she speaks to me coagulating
“If you want to leave,
I will take all of your guilt”

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…and we wade in oil, step on broken glass

There is no loss
No forward momentum
The streets are flooded with mosaics
Glass murals stained with flesh and blood
Of our mothers’ belonging and who knew
There were so many shades of red and
Who knew that a scene one thousand one words screaming
Could be sewn shut,

There is loss
There is movement without
But we are not worthy we believe
We are not worthy
It’s not worth it to suffer for the greater good and
We do not properly acknowledge the deaths that come
Knocking at our doors that whisper
Under our treads as we drive ignorant
Drive daydreaming,
No, it’d be a needless sacrifice
A contradiction for we the luminaries
To suffer for one another

There is no loss
Only a life abandoned;
The rotting smell of our mothers’ remains

This blood is earth and water, this blood is earth and water

But it rains and instinctually
We retreat

Return to a hollow of our own making;
The furrowed marrow mass of a tree uprooted
It’s luck
It’s a manifestation of grief never acquitted

Hold down coarse forest fur
Frantically protruding forth
Out of fear
Out of an absence of warmth

Lightning flashes,
White paints bleak landscapes with negative light
Two dimensional
Binary projection

We are afraid
Of the mother’s gunshot
Of her fierceful fusillades
We are afraid
Not of being stalked
Not of being wrapped under
The deep taloned paw of a predator
But of seeing ourselves in the temporary
Epochal photographies as if a storm,
One of many
Will reveal that as we are the hunted
We are the hunter as well
Still,
We continue to take shelter
To live in a state of denial

Transition; Lack Of

The sun sets at 10
And we do not notice
The sun sets at seven
And still, we do not notice

Until it is summer
Until Autumn
Until radiant energy is bleeding
From our non-radiant palms

Skin inseparable from earth
Earth inseparable from skin
Soil upturned as if raining in reverse
Until daylight is a dream
And we start going to sleep earlier and earlier
With no concrete reason why
We just wake up and look at our hands
We just wake up and look at our hands

Smokestacks

To feel no panic at the thought
To feel only pride in the action

Fish once swam,
Swam through sapphire seas,
Breeding in instinctual rhythm
From crystal canyon fingertips
To coral nested ventricles,
As it stands we as humans
Were once tropical rain-forests,
We were once oceans
Teeming with spawn and opportunities
To be innocent

We have forgotten

the oceans are on fire

Rebuild and repair
World of residence concrete pledged,
Priorities misspoken
Flesh broken into
Lead plumbing inserted
Brick and mortar replaced beauty and effervescence

Succumbing to an illness; cherished children of us
We are sick and dying and we don’t know why
Why love feels this way these days

the oceans are on fire
the oceans are on fire

An illness cherished; children of us,
We are sick and dying

Migratory Patterns

You do not know, so I suppose
In some aspect every flock of terns that fly
South when my mouth opens to speak
Is a lie;

A murder of crows crowding
Serene ocean skies with cimmerian concrete impressions,
I am buried in what I know

In what you believe to be honesty
Is absolutely otherwise and I am unsure
If an apology is needed or if a confession is necessary
Because you’ve always recognized pink
As being my favorite colour

Receding Coastlines

Fair opportunity presented in such a fashion
Making introduction,
The first word “Hello” impossible to say,
Your interest is in photography,
Mines in fucking up first impressions,
If we’re being honest and it’s not clear by now
Approaching people isn’t my strong suit
And I know of a coastline littered with skeletons in small clothes,
Imprint these visions of bad weather into still frames
In mourning dew drops
Wind gusts,
Breathless repentance
Broke tension with the body of the girl
Who jumped where we were standing,
Took a picture of the lake shore
Riddled with fissures
Bodies for holding
Letters written poorly got caught in the negatives
Revealing a trace of humanity
On an Isle of stone eleven thousand years old,
If you look closely you can see her bones have become small pebbles