Macbeth in 17 syllables
Magic is simply
as prosaic as the greed
in mens’ lonely hearts.
You get lost so often
between the baby
and the dramatic pre-teen,
but your carefree nature
never complains.
You giggle with wild abandon
and find love in flower petals and unicorns.
We share small moments
under covers
whispering secrets,
spinning tales so large the limits
of imagination are stretched
thin as the hairs on a violin bow.
And you play so sweetly on my heart.
I keep a tally
Mostly they live
A long long time
One woman my age
Died at the hospice care center
A childhood friend died
Peacefully at home
I look for ratios
For patterns
A way to measure
Or predict
The woman’s voice is kind
But firm
On the cancer care app
She says I will get well
For the joy of living
But I thrive on the fear
Of dying.
The first night I stayed
In your 1877 house
The winter wind came through
Your room like a beast,
A being intent on being
The dare devil of our passion
Century old particles flew
Out from the peeling wallpaper
To create hieroglyphics
On the mantel above your bed,’
The sound of the storm a cover
For your children sleeping upstairs
milliseconds of morphine drip out onto the floor
everything good drains from the bend of your elbow
I can see the it’s like I don’t know who you are now
prying its way over your tongue and from behind your teeth
I can see your eyes not seeing me
I can’t tell if it’s my hand or yours
that goes limp
you close the casket lid on me
you can’t stand long goodbyes
Maybe
One day
We’ll need each other
Like in a Walking Dead
Kind of way
She’ll want me
Because I’m not afraid
To tear some skin
While the men are off dying
Due to dull acts of heroism
We’ll be the ones
Who survive
“I’m glad they’ve begun asking riddles—I believe I can guess that” -Alice, Chapter VII, The Mad Tea Party
I used to know beauty:
Buzz swarm seething into a new hive
Spin and bow playful beagle
Sculpture room in silence
Sniffing bookcases
Weight of a good pen
Now all I know are riddles:
Media buzz
Knees & blood
Truncheon swing
Jittery video
Fence, Pillar, and Post
The lash of history
Unsolved
Krystalnacht smashes glassy ears
but louder is the silence
boxcars of Jews roll along click-click
down train tracks through the Black Forest
but louder is the silence
Trump waves the Bible upside-down
police shoot rubber bullets and tear gas
Black Hawk helicopters circle like vultures
but louder is the silence
Silence can be sorted from other sounds:
it has no echo
it crushes but doesn’t deafen
it has the gravitational pull of a black star
and stretches through centuries past and future
like an ogre’s arms after a long, long nap
Broad chatty vine Broad chatty vine
he drops a line and comes on by
gets to walking but takes his time
Broad chatty vine broad chatty vine
voracious yellow talking leaves
just hungry for some company
sit back and put your arm on me
Broad chatty vine broad chatty vine
tell me now what is on your mind
the worlds too tall but you feel fine
your back’s crooked and so is mine
Broad chatty vine broad chatty vine
another noseless sphinx
my ligature coils its riddle
among pubis and thigh
the needle and thread of you
knows where to sew, where to tatter
and what knots are too terrible
to loose upon the world.
