Category Archives: Pallor

Playdough Pietàs

Sometimes I struggle
Like an infant pulling through
The amniotic cocoon
Gasping to breathe
What I haven’t before.
I struggle with the transience
In a complete lifetime,
The impermanence I find,
The great distillation of enormity
Into tiny moments
We may only inhabit once.

Our baby laughter
Echoes through the corridors
Of time no more.
Our babies’ laughter
Yields to silent hallways
And I am always aware
I’m tender here
Ever in wonder
Ever grieving

The millions of tiny births and deaths
In a single lifespan.


Rolled Over

Unhinged again by pain, the spins
Around my ears keep me queasy,
Exhausted, broken, hyper-aware:
Loving me is never easy.
Pulsing ache and fevered throes
Cluttered breaths over shattered shards
Wracked up, wrung out, run down
I fight my own worst regards
Only one friend who writes,
Only one who values me
In the stumbling, tumbling turmoil
Of the worst that I can be-
These whispers hiss and spit
Inside my throbbing ears:
Wasted! Worthless! Naught to show
For all these tarried years.
Oh the physical weakness,
Whenever I assume
I may stand and work and run
On the thin fumes I have presumed
Were the common breaths of man.

How can I run my race
When I can barely stand?
Yet I live, and breath, and move
Inside Your pierced hand

And that’s enough for me.

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Up in Smoke

Sometimes
… lately…

this heavy, hazy feeling
crowding my chest
this lazy, lumbering
never at rest
wheezing when I laugh
shuddering to shout
I have an unwell ache
skin shivers as I call out
rumbles when I am still
inhaling the silence
translating the gentle air
into an invasion of violence
marching inwards mundanely
with no respite to save it

and this recalls the ghosts of a life in smoke;
In the memory, how I crave it

… lately…
Sometimes


Graded Earth

For the life of me
I can’t figure the parts
Stuck between where I’m going
And the spot I started
As anything other than
Some odd bird’s migration
North for the chill
Against the invitation
To follow the crowd, or
To just freeze
Admit some kind of defeat
But I ruffle the breezes
And walk on alone
I can’t understand
What I was supposed to do,
Was there some parcel of land
I neglected to climb?
Some trail or tour
I’m confused by the feeling
I’m a failure
When there was no clear mandate
Aside from learning
To love and be loved
To mitigate the pain and yearning
Of humanity, aware.

And I’m still here.


Low Tide

These ebbs erode the shoreline,
Carrying the banks to build bars
For the oyster to ingest
Constructing pearl from the hard sands
I once stood upon.

Time erodes my story,
Washing away the grains
Of days and hours and potential roads
And the details are the same
But the game of charades lilts to a side

Our birth pitches us into projects
We cannot honestly complete
Like writing the ill-conceived
Autobiography
About the stranger.

All the roots I sank
And I’m still just a duffle bag
One goodbye away
From a homeless nomad
Too tired to roam

Watching the churning sea
For the bits of debris
That feel like home.


TB or Not TB

I’m stressed; scared to death
The pain in my chest
Could be transferable.

Fighting the blues; waiting for news
With so much to lose
For those who’ve loved me.

I resist defeat; my faith complete,
But earth tilts beneath my feet
Waiting, waiting for the diagnosis.

Am I so sick? My mind plays tricks
All my exhales burning thick:
Must loving me always be a risk?

Shhh, I try to deny
That age old lie
Repeating that I am contaminated,

And every soul drawing close
Pays a toll
Atop the kindness

When I mean no harm.


Writer’s Remorse

Glad to hear you’re doing well!
I can’t complain! Doing fine,
Though I’ve got this feeling lately
Maybe it’s finally time
To pull all the words I’ve written,
Pile every piece into one tall pyre,
Every jot and every tittle,
And the light the whole damn thing on fire.

But what’s the point?
I can’t escape who I am.
If I burned every thought to earth
I’d take the ash and begin again.