Ashes drift from the flames into the air.
I try to catch them, but they go through
my ghostly hands.
My words, my soul, my solace of speaking,
even only to myself in journals, so I could
put a name on this death.
Those sacred words, my holy writ,
scripture of the secret places in me,
are being destroyed.
I told of his hateful words, wild anger,
the fists that fell were others wouldn’t
see the bruises.
I am gone, and I am gone again, because
he doesn’t want to look bad. His good name
is worth more than my soul.
Ashes drift, his face Halloween orange, flickering.
Once I would have loved that. Found that beautiful.
I once found him beautiful.
My words, my sacred sorrows, the ink that drew not
blood when he drew mine, are gone, gone forever.
Sparks go through my ghostly hands.
Sylvia on the beach,
As the storm rumbles,
Off in the crystal ocean.
It’ll be here soon enough.
It’s her birthday, her party.
The rain is starting to spatter.
The present she wanted badly
She shows off to her friends.
Storm opens up, everyone scatters.
Sylvia, laughing, runs for cover.
The rain doesn’t hurt at first.
But it will.
Sympathetic magic, superstitious sweetness,
as the night falls slowly, and I hope for peace and rest.
A martyr, a saint, an angel in a young woman,
a smile as warm as the morning sun.
I laid my sword at her feet, when she was taken,
to show her love and faithfulness, though I fell again.
Headful of bad shit that doesn’t leave, not even a kiss
chases it back to Tartarus, or out of my life.
Sweet songs from when I was young playing, repeating,
that bring a wisp of the child I once was
and I put the slideshow on my laptop, her face, happy, alive,
shining, the mourning sun, glow of a star taken by His hand.
Sympathetic magic, that her light will chase all the bad shit away,
that I’ll dream in Eden and be whole again as I sleep.
Angel, agape coming to me imperiled heart, so I can take her hand,
and follow her to a better world, better dream, better heart.
Sweet dreams, please.
Be an angel like her, please.
The train rocks and shimmies and shakes,
and it almost lulls me to sleep, half awake,
like an infant in her mother’s arms.
The brown townhouses, the little yards,
lights on in second story windows, life,
like tableaux for my god like eyes.
I am not godlike.
The Atlantic, I imagine cold, gunmetal gray,
and deep and as empty as the sky above it,
which will, perversely, be blue and bright.
Blue, my favorite color.
I sit on the beach, the Atlantic Blue, eternal,
and not a cloud in the sky, I drink iced tea.
I finish it, go under, lost like a drop in infinity.
Cold water doesn’t feel.
James Agee Park, ragged and scraggly,
is not the childhood jungle of the playground
of my elementary school, hemmed in by
wire fencing, enticing with it’s mysteries.
It’s 3 am, and still hot and humid, without mercy.
So few stars, but there is rocous laughter,
loud music, raised voices.
I drink iced tea I bought for a dollar.
I might be here till morning. I might leave in a
minute. I’m waiting for the nerve to go,
or for aliens, the fey, or angels to take me home.
For anything to change.
Few stars roll above me, but they broke their promise,
their light did not show the way, and holy writ cut out
my innocence and lust, so I could be a better consumer.
I finish my tea, and crush the ice in my teeth.
A light blinks in the sky, moves strangely, almost drunkenly.
Maybe the mad bastards or the alien bastards have come,
or it’s just an out of reach wonder in a bad, sleepless night.
I remember a past love, and hold the memory fondly.
Blue dress, simple but beautiful,
down to the tips of her soft shoes.
Wide brimmed hat, shaded eyes,
a pretty outfit she did not once choose.
The night is wet, just after a late rain,
and it’s so still as Sunday Morning comes.
She hears his car coming up the road,
the bass thumping like timpani drums.
She could run to Alberta prairies with him,
to the place he’s made for them to start anew.
A place quiet, away from a sleeping world,
with pretty flowers sparkling with spring dew.
She could stay in this town that feels is taking
all that she cherished, all that the angels command.
But does this man love her, or is she a dream?
Chose this dress; what else will he always demand?
His car is coming, too fast, too loud, and she sighs.
Will he grow bored, will her grow mean, up in the plains?
The world is the world, wherever you runaway to,
same heartache and tears and emotional strains.
She’ll have to choose, stay or go, run or fight,
go with this man, or find another way to be alive.
The blades of fate cut you skin whichever way you go,
but there must be a way in this darkness to thrive.
The day is gray, house in disarray,
walking up the stairs, I pray.
Rain on the window, where did my girl go?
What is this demon below?
Her door ajar, the tape star,
a galaxy only seen from afar.
Dirty clothes, a lotus pose,
what The Devil surely knows
is that she is gone, before dawn.
just her demon’s pawn.
I touch her skin, cold within,
hope is a troubling sin.
I weep, the girl I will keep,
in my heart raw and deep.
Peace comes down, gone from this town,
she is in heaven, in pure white gown.
“I love you.” I speak, find what you seek
now that neither of us can ever be weak.
Faith is the name my mother gave me.
Faith she always had. Always all she had.
She couldn’t keep the demons back.
She couldn’t keep him from betraying me.
Faith held her together and held me close.
But my heart was wrung out without deliverance.
He took something precious from me.
Something that’s beautiful for other people.
He took something precious from me.
And God looked the other way.
Out in the desert hills, cold in the night,
I look up at the sky, all those distant stars
Faith is the name my mother gave me
and it’s in short supply, as I smoke my last ciggie.
Faith my mother always had. Always all she had.
Faith? Is it my name? Is it me? Is it in the sky?
I see a blue light come out of nowhere, up there,
sharp and warm, cutting the dark, spilling bloody light.
I feel something I can’t dream, or say with my tongue.
Demon or angel, it’s a passing in the night, a terrifying wonder.
And then it’s gone, a flashing spark blinking out,
and I am without a thought of what to wipe away.
Faith is the name my mother gave me. My name.
Out in these desert hills so cold in the night.
These lonely hills I could walk home or to Tartarus.
To the underworld or to the arms of my mother.
He took something precious from me, forever tainted.
But there’s a blue light in the sky and another world.
Faith is the name my mother gave me. She gave that to me.
Maybe God is indifferent, but mother is not, not ever at all.
I walk back home, to mother, to home, to walking on to paradise.
Maybe God will come through, and he’ll wipe away my tears.
But I know my mother will tonight.