Monthly Archives: August 2015

Fissure King

It stained everything
In the days I was shaken
Seeping from cracks
Ripped through the foundation.

Broken, I became
All ink stain and rubble.
Who pained to look on me
Invited trouble.

Days and distance
Stilled the quake
I still awake at night
Prone to shake

In the wake of the devastation
I have tasted:
The flesh and folly
Quaking wasted.

Who I am
Forever stained
Along the fissures
Carved like veins

By a mighty hand
I could not see,
Guiding these cracks
That had to be

But in the deepest chasm
Of fractured despair,
I found one small flower
Blooming fair

A fragile, fragrant blossom,
Unfamiliar to my sight,
And it’s nectar held the power
To put every fracture right.

I did not have it in me
To shut up the chasm deep,
To force the little flower
Into impotence and sleep.

So I live along these fault lines,
This open, aching earth,
So I can ever reach the little bloom
That grants broken dust rebirth.

There is a great compassion
Built into my design;
I am the gaping fissure,
But the flower, too, is mine.

Always You

Asleep again, and fever dipped
So gripped by dream
I can’t awake
Or shake free a morning beam
To stir the day, or to redeem.

And all we gathered on our way
Stays within our view.
We navigate our space
Facing all we cannot do,
Or be, or claim as true.

But the truth leaves my lips,
A sip of all things
That happen beside time
Mine and your paintings,
In flesh and fainting.

But I was deceived
You achieved all you desired
In my absence
My passions left unfired;
My allegiance uninspired.

In that moment she came
Your same, your one, that’s when
I saw in my blindness
Your kindness was compassion
Not love, but a pitiful reaction.

They mocked my flaws,
According to the laws of woman’s choosing
And you frowned silent
Compliant, but disapproving
Of the superfluous bruising.

I’ve wandered long
One song in my chest,
But no one in need of the tune.
How soon I’ll return to broken rest,
And it is always you inside my breast

Sunk like an arrow.


How long you’ve been gone.
Your shadow’s broken vows
Swept aside as I
Played house.

I planted wildflowers in pairs
In the earth by the gate
I trimmed the little table
With a bit of found lace.

I opened the windows
To air out my rooms,
And met gentle breezes
And cheery bird tunes.

You stayed gone.
This trip longer than last,
I grew more brazen
In my care-taking tasks.

I repainted a room.
I heard what you might say
Chattering as though
You had not gone away,

But the color was bright
And covered the stains
That announced you were here
While they remained

I painted over
The great obscenity.
I settled into your absence
Like a deep anonymity.

A jarring sound,
The familiar crack
Of door to frame
Of fist to back

A blacksmith pounding
On my mettle
While I observe
Faded paint and fallen petals.

Great Rumble

Lightning strikes
Like artillery works
Heat and violence washing us
In waves of light.

Who struck first
And who strikes last
When dust and cloud
Settle down

Into ash and earth.