Diachronic Dissonance

Quiver gently
Onto tree roots and reach for me darling
River of mine, love of life oh,
Great companion in the journey of reincarnation,
Watching you erupt every season illustrated fearful
At once I might fall or want to jump
In, now it’d be an honor to drown,
Kiss your red-stained lips chip
A tooth on rocks eroded smooth,

This romance is unconventional but I know
The makeup of my body I know
Humanity is suffering only
Together and alone waiting,
I will wait for you river
If you will wait for me yet again,
A twist of hair braiding sediment
With sentimentality waiting for age to accumulate
Become a layer of limestone exposed
An adult I’ve grown into and still,
Close you are it is this feeling of distance
That can’t be consummated and how much longer
Will it be before in harmony our structures will be joined together?

This world is uncomfortable
My body aches in knowing I was once free-flowing
Thought process still stuck in a past life
An ear to earth I hear roots growing and I understand
What a sunset says but this tongue fails to enunciate a clear translation,
Panic stricken staying up late carving canyons into skin
As if blood and water are indistinguishable
Gutters abundant under glossy eyes
Crying in attempt to grow flowers and forests
How is it possible that at twenty-one
I’m no more what I will be than what I am?

A Moment Alone

Found a place to rest- a rotten log within me
Brought downstream during Spring’s flood,
Now all that is is a shallow river
Rapid only when snow melts and forests momentarily forgotten
Are able to flow and feel alive,

Oh visions of self-actualization
How violent you are,
How passive I’ve become,

A beach of sand and debris beckons these bare feet
To stand and sink,
Aspirations stutter
Beget a life without success
Unmoved by opportunity
Trapped by chance
Only by sheer force of violent circumstance
Is progress met,

A rotten log within me I rest,
Watching red roll over rock struggling
So desperately to turn white it’s summer,
There is no energy to be dignified
There is no energy left to roar,
There is no true desire
To be anything more than what today has offered,
There is only wish and fallacy
False nostalgia for what was or never will be,
There is no energy to turn white with triumph,
There is no energy to be acknowledged,
There is no energy to roar,

Gently into the night the river flows

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

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