Open air
I cannot open myself
I cannot close
We lost our luggage
in the place no one goes
to find trinity,
unity
A whole rose-bush, peeling
revealing rotted roots of the family tree
Intention
Inside the pen
wrapped in veins
a pink truth laps
up
a passionate haze.
This strange instrument
Settling into bed, back to front
train cars calling pridefully from dusk covers
The railway signals, stars on my knee bloodied by
fatherhood and healing
Your breath blossoms, clarity on my back
and I cannot tell if your kisses are muscle memory
acting on your heart’s accord
Like music I try to set free from this strange
instrument, my body
I can’t seem to give that to you lately
intimacy and tenderness are old friends,
contacts I seem to have ripped up and forgotten
Like fire I try to put out by blowing harder
on cinders
I want to grow with you, but I think of people
as faces in the bathroom mirror
Fogginess is an excuse to touch them,
dimness is to shine my light brighter,
When I look and don’t see anyone on the other side, it’s hard to say whether I want anyone there
or if I wish
for once in this God damn life
that I would appear, instead of these strange strangers
These thorny humans
All I see in the mirror is a pupil, too stubborn to open itself
and let some fucking light in
