Black and Red

Wary of internalized predation-a step forward
Towards the dimly lit kitchen
To gaze at a river whose movement
Appears to have been reversed,
To watch a cat sneak beneath
The eyesight of an unsuspecting bird-

Lunge and tear
A swan song sung
Briefly by warbler

What honesty comes from nature?

Puff of feathers floating I fell asleep
In the time they took to hit earth

In truth I felt more sorry for the cat

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Dead Bolt

Constantly rotating images like a small child who
Recently acquired a red Viewmaster
Flipping non-stop
Laughing so joyously in amazement
Such a thing can exist and be held between two hands.
I think about my own throat
Face turning lapis blood vessels
Breaking in attempt to speak and I am laughing
At a 3D image portraying the death of my beloved Betta Fish,
A fillet knife resting on the table
His eyes looking up at me,
Ever running and rotating
It’s not necessarily a fantasy
Metaphor alluding to a deep rooted feeling of loss or anger
An apple once swallowed
That settled down and never came out
Every time I look in the mirror
My hands are my hands and
My face is my own but with something missing,
Not some sudden emotion that’ll pass or rot
This thought loves me and I’ve been
Biting my tongue on saying it back
Not wanting to admit that violence is my true passion
There’s enough awareness to not walk
On that side of the street anymore avoid
Making eye contact lock the door
In a neighborhood once claimed safe.
I’ve grown old, tired of pain
Being the key to happiness tired
Of constantly changing the locks
Yet always waking up to breakfast in bed,
Settling for acceptance over relief,
Dysphoria over amendment
Feeling whole isn’t worth it
If all the pieces are broken

Drowning In Concord

Kaleidoscope sunrise shining collateral
In confidence of vulnerable precedence

Swallowing thorn bushes
To spit out another womb
Nimble grass matted down to make room
For another bout of fermentation-
Fighting newborn flesh with steel and glass

Almost as said simply
If a loss is required
It’s better to offer a facet
Never rightly experienced

Living postmortem is nearly justified
Accepted as reality
For having a heartbeat,
The consequence of loving every meteor shower
Escaping beautiful temptation
Of lighter
And reclamation
Of summer evening,
Fingers furrow passion
For any sign of amelioration
Passage is inescapable
But progress lies
Buried in an elusive state
Of suspension,
Choking down heavy moisture
A recondite sigh grows accustomed
To liquidating human requirements
With each movement made,
The body becomes a staggered succession
Of pallid footprints
Retreating to an unaltered imperative
Of nothingness

Feeling natural was too much to cherish