As It Is

Joy consummates the soul, sews the ragged seams of one’s heart shut, cleans the wound and filters that putrid mud which has soiled the liquid purity of blood. All to often however, failure is accepted- falling asleep to Parks and Rec. caked in sweat with the volume up so damn loud your own dismal conceptions drown without a second thought, whispering compliments into whiskey bottles hoping they’ll return the favor with friendship become hobbies. When not working or studying for twenty years of debt these are the things that occupy us. No more do we dream of grand fantasies or shout impossibilities to the heavens as if we ourselves are the gods the oceans answer to. No, we are but human, idle and defeated existing under ironbound weights; our skin a canvas of lacerations exclusively okay, never better, never worse.

To find joy, fleeting as it always is, is to realize that the innocent idea of “infinity” lasts a measurable amount of time. A first kiss unexpected and rushed on a school night walking briskly home before Mother realizes that you’re thirty minutes late for dinner, a road trip in rust lasting a week of curse words and cigarettes- I left my accent in West Virginia, the smell however, stayed for another ten days. Each petty attempt at holding back a smile that would strike a sun in the darkness of my gut remained for as long as needed. For a measurable amount of time the chains were lifted, arteries were allowed to heal, the heart allowed to beat. Let this body be a map of cuts and bruises, perpetually determined to convalesce as much as I suffer, I will find my way home cleansed and honest if only for a moment.

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Sediment In A Wine Bottle

Estate sale personified
As swigs of sand dwindling through
Kaleidoscope irises, slipping sunsets into palms cut
Acting in assumption that such wounds
Close, fade and then ambiguous definitions of normalcy
Can be resumed again
Acting in assumption such pain halts
And forgives the body it accumulates,
Clothes become too big
Fabric promised protection
Sworn, left unnoticed
Dedicated life to living beneath stale socks almost
Visible but kept dark and almost given a chance,
Embraced auctions for relinquishing redemption
Based offers observed pretended to be valuable,
Feign colour polarity
Pallet set
Sleep on hoping prosperity flourish
And wither slip into an unintentional hibernation
Waiting for-but wake up it’s time to move on
Waiting for-but wake up
Quoted as in decline
Liquidate property as hospital visits

What Joy, To Be Here At Last

Water finds its way under ice avoiding
The cruelty of freezing temperatures, the roar
Of spring rapids breaking over limestone shore,
Smooth and glass
And trying to be something else I am reflexive
Breaking apart when leaves fall,
Finding solace in smothering virtue with grace,
Similar to how six inches of snow inundates
Evidence of decay then, the following day
Tumbles so tender and whimsical

Jagged mirrors of cedar menhir separate
Caught against the rough space beneath crow’s feet
Call and pray upon the frayed fabric of wildlife
A bandanna becoming beating heart snagging
Tattered on overhanging branches:
Everything is unraveled into its simplest form

Trail path formed above the fragility of forgotten Spring
Recedes flowing north instead of south,
Ash warped and leather wrapped turns
A river bend into a log cabin
Resting atop a widow’s crest
And we all run and wander,
Looking for what-
The lost warmth of birth
While trying to avoid the burden of being
Lost and wild-
Home is a whisper spoken
On soft winter afternoons
Slithering through broken boughs of bramble buds
Indifferent to parallel occurrences, stumbling
Through a delicate image unknown and
Unaware