a church as a burden
administrative expectation
the artistic expression
queasy admiration
for the ancient
flesh
ghost
book
drone of sermon
abstract stained-glass
wrinkles on forehead
should all feel
more important
light a candle
run a finger
over too-new
wood veneer
the space
hollow
and the lack
suits you
yearning for
beyond-bored
not sure
the
spirit self’s
here
is all
Photo by Luke Paris on Unsplash
what can I tell you
about
swift-moving morning-mineral water
cold and clean
when the world pauses
insects scream
the trees watch
ancient and serene
above a sandy bottle-green
river bed
so pure
dimpled surface like
a music-box cylinder
our arms the combs
in tune
her hair in curls
at her neck
my feet kick
like a child’s
below
in the depths
so clear it looks near
tearing the blue
of our kids’ licked-lenses
off our eyes
so
the ungoggled
colours slant sepia
in a heartbeat
like blood, like 80s photographs
the tint
of old leaves
oh
how can I explain
the magic of that
scene
Photo by Irene Aguilera Blanco on Unsplash
gotta be addicted somehow
to love or painkillers
to pain or lovekillers
substances substantial
stuff
need more of it
must declutter
tracking my macros
on the app
tells me
my hrv is wildly
ordinary
excessive exercise
(and podcasts)
the only way
to quiet
racing thoughts
thoughts of racing
and getting a pb
fuel anxiety
anxiety is fuel
to keep showing up
show up and keep to
the program
progress not perfection
perfection in constant
progress,
cultivate
aesthetic athletic
movement
maintain
motivation
love
and pain
an addict understands
the drive the desire
motivation, smitten
beholden to addiction, begotten
be gotta, be, gotta,
gotta be
Spoken version of this poem here:
https://on.soundcloud.com/grfyu
Photo by afiq fatah on Unsplash
a poem about love
turned into smoke
could still taste
its scent
in my throat
but the words
dissipate like
well, you know
grey-ash flakes and
your smile
floats
beyond
immediate invoke
oh, you’re gone like
ocean spray
away, away
a youthful daze
like summertime
never stays
Photo by Jacek Dylag on Unsplash
the house next door had holes in the walls
I could see sunlight shine through
on bright days
and when it rained
my sliding window
3-inches wide
behind bars
flaking and tired
open so
the cat could come and go
then, at night
through
forks of light
you called
and buildings fell
curtains of grey rain
soft, soothed
a rift in time
muffled all
except Sinead
and sudden, close
her vibration
cut through the beer and wine
standing naked
couldn’t tell
hell from beauty
warmth from fire
sickness, health
anyway
that was one
of nine lives
Photo by Petr Slováček on Unsplash
some days I look like Elvis
in reflection
or Jim Carrey
which is embarrassing
outside
sun slams the lawn
stark on worn sides
where it’s faded
and died
what if I had stepped away
from this life
when you asked me
that day
after we
oh
I don’t speak about
these things
in polite company
it’s just not
Presley
Photo by Michèle Eckert on Unsplash
clairevetica 