Will send you

some shots of me

~and poetry

because you see

I can be here in this moment

and forget the past

let all the ugly breathe it’s last

Take a long, long time to admire –

the future us, will sigh at the plumpness in our skin

-I take a thousand moments to look for the fleeting is fast

so quickly we are frail and thin

ever is the wage of sin

where once we had forever

all we have is ticking time

only ever in the now can you can be mine

but now we always are apart

unbreak my heart, re-start

go back

to where you were when they made you snap–

please, because, yes

-that is how the moments pass

photographs and tears and laughs

and memories we barely grasp

but trust -our flesh and our blood

was called forth from the word

and our hearts were the wells used for the ink

our bones– these images on repeat

what we get, we can’t see

all above

and more beneath

poetry is not enough

but never was it meant to be

neither is -only these- images of me

Got a mouth full of

Second hand smoke, child

Broken to mild

Figure out today while

You smile and I

Free fall fly with hand grenades

Packed inside a secret suitcase

In case

I need to move quick

Shrapnel bits

Picked over by the crow

Woe

To reap what I sow

So destiny is so slow

Wanna know what I know

Oh no

You stay here, grow

I’ll go

I got this

Born with

witches mark

Stark hills burn

Tides turn

Lessons learned

Go back to where

Everything is gone

Verses of the song

Lost in refrain

Edges of my brain

Caught in the lightening caught in the rain

Bring me your blood

Bring me your love

Bring me a cigarette

Bring me a dove

Tie the blind tight

In the light I see God

A firing squad

the clutching of heart strings with fingers

separating knots

like a surgeon,

but also like a serial killer

so then when it was over and I lay in recovery unimaginable

when I couldn’t imagine I had recovered

when I couldn’t imagine why

and the morphine

lies

supply

dried

I stared into the sun

I ran away into the sun across the field

maybe it was Iowa, on the far western border

a gas station abandoned with a sign that

creaked in the wind and tumble weeds blocking the entrance

I might have stayed there forever

but I walked on

just stopped believing it means something

anything I can grasp and live only

for the fire

You left and the ghost left.
So no more cold zones.
Or smoke detector batteries that die at the same time.
No more.

Like I am in water,
with you I let the weight of me go
tipped back my shoulders
into the curved wave of your clavicles
there rested,
full tilt hips and arms like windmill blades, slicing through the scared of me.
So in a morgue now. And tapping.

With wings and kerosene to guide me,
lighting darkness with a spark of flame
setting fire to the world,
on and on,
a solitary patient performs her own surgery,
I look down and it is me,
I have cut into my chest with precision,
inside, I place Kano rune to remind me even after I sew shut to stay open.

Maybe the ghost has not left.
I still find things misplaced from time to time.
I still feel like I am being watched, from time to time, I am still watching.
But no more cold like that night,
or rain like how it was that night,
so much water to let myself be lifted by
carried out into the tragic deluge.

I could be the ghost now; left.

Wound-by-Mark-Ryden