tabletop gamer, writer & visual artist

Category: poetry

I wil remember

I am no one if not not-me,
and this I keep forgetting;
if I settle for this being,
then I’ve forgotten myself;
not, mind you, a self
which I can identify
(that will never please me),
but myself as only “I see”;
not seeing nor thinking
itself, which is in danger
of this forgetting pattern;
not claiming nor knowing,
wherein lies certain death;
no, truth lies in denying
(dare we say, forgetting)
oneself, as only emptiness
can learn one own truth.

Equinox fall

I lie on my equinox, split night
and day, stare the stars away,
retreat from my sun’s warmth,
shrivel from his kisses; fear
we’ll kill the owl, we’ve clipped
my peregrine wings, that I’m
naught but a carrion crow.

I fly the interstate highway,
eyes torn in dimming light,
whisper to myself, “take flight.”
But caged in an automotive,
with love my passenger, I
cannot roost nor swoop,
let alone, ascend, from barn
to branch to windy mountain.

Oh my sun, let me resurrect
my demons, darling.  Night
must grow longer so that I
might slink under it, satisfy
myself in your pale moonlight.
Let me fall and winter over;
let me grow cold and dream
again; let all your blossoms,
fruits, fade, shrink, and fall;
let it all fall, bare in the night.
The owl will snatch the mice
that gather summer’s seeds.

Only among mountaintops
will the falcon recall how
high and far and fast it can
fly.  This crow will still caw
beside your bedroom window:
“In every death, we find meat.”

My winter will again end
so we can find one another
as equals; my sun, the stars
must share the sky, if ever I
am to be a migratory bird.
Let me lie on my equinox,
split with you, day and night.

Sister Insect

Sister dirty cheap upon a wood
floor; ants heap coffee grounds
to dig a hole down the center:
a fiddle-player without a bow,
a pianist out of keys.  Climb,
“Oh my little sister!”  And sing
a song of reason, beauty, blue.

Weak music drips upon a wood
table; fingers clucking electric
letters to drill a bigger hole:
a spider with only four legs,
a wingless wasp still stings.

Cry, my sister.  Write tears
with an old-fashioned feather.
Dribble, dabble, lay your breast
upon the table; quibble, scribble
with bruised knees hard-pressed
into the floor.  I’ll drink a cup,
then spit and laugh and listen
as you beg for reason, beauty.

Sister drew a forest so thick,
I can find neither footsteps
nor socks.  But no line drawn
will ever mean more than my
drowned, mournful defeat.
Pin pretty blue butterflies;
type neat black-ink labels.
We dream of wings, strings,
quiet seaside coffee shops,
and gulls scream, “Hallelujah!”

I wish we were here together,
you knew a beetle from a drum,
that written words could sing.

Sister slams soft into a wood
door, snaps sweet as cookies
crumble.  All the ants gather:
it’s time to collect your purse,
leave your key on the table.
I march to the crickets’ beat
as the Queen rots on a shelf.
Light a fire, “Oh, my sister!”

Selkie (Selfless Slim remix)

Not skin, skin so
thin, where begins
silky skin, within.

See fat, seal fate, see in
seal skin.  Steal wealthy;
without weight, can in stealth.

Fore to see, in the sea, see
more. But with more than that;
raw, cold, on the surface, less.

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