Tag Archives: isolation

The Wind Became Words

The room is dark, but I see starlight out the window
as I lay in bed, sleepless, shivering, angry at everything.
Once, the minister took me to the mountain, to teach me
scripture and theology. I only heard God in the wind.
The wind became words.
I read of Spanish Captains and The New World,
the ocean forever, Man’s eye looking up At Gods Eye, the sky.
I read of the clear blue waters of The Pacific, the distant isles,
and the wild raging storms that make the measure of a man.
God’s words would be in the wind.
I decide. I am 17. I can join The Navy. Mom will sign me over.
Her trouble making boy someone else’s worry now.
My duffel bag packed, I walk on the sidewalk to the recruiter,
dawn a soft satin blue that has not yet become garish and gaudy.
And God, He whispers secrets in the wind.
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She sits naked on the bed, her back to me, looking out the window.
It is a dim and hazy morning, window open, a warm wind does blow.
She might turn into a bird, ash grey like heaven, flutter up and go.
The morning filled with the calls of birds, commuters, hangmen.
She could see the end of the world where every death will begin.
If her wings come through her shoulder blades, the devil will win.
I kiss those same shoulder blades, those sharp faces, special dispensation.
She is in another world, enjoying her Friday Feast, registers no sensation.
My meal of cold fish cannot pour out enough love to absolve her resignation.
Feathers are sharp, fine wire, taking bits of flesh as they cut down the strings
of the most holy and indifferent stars, falling to earth and all the confusion it brings.
The sweetness of that first kiss as I sit here, sharing breath but not intimacy, stings.
She could be in Cleveland by sundown, or Pompeii before they’d miss her in the store.
She watches the world wake, and time the revenge of a friend she lost in another war.
She is gone, and I count the wounds her sharp and disinterested talons leave in the floor.

I Fear I Am Boring You

I see you getting antsy, checking your phone,
growing restless.
I’m sorry. I try to find words to say.
Something interesting to say.
Even a joke, if that’d keep you here.
Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me.
Talk to me. About anything. Literally anything.
Your favorite band is a band I hate, but I want
to hear all about them and their genius from you.
Talk about last semester in nursing school.
Talk about that bitch Skylar and the shit she pulled.
Talk about vacations to places I could never afford to go.
Talk about anything. I will listen. I will care.
Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.
Please, don’t leave me.

Starlings Read The Sky


The Ivory Tower That Welcomes The Lost

Las Vegas is bright by it is light invisible. There is nothing revealed. There is no warmth.

The songs of my youth, of infatuation and sorrow, call only ghosts whose teeth draw blood.

All night I was awake. All that came were bad memories. Aching for sweet things lost.

Nothing soothes this longing, for what I once held close, and for what’s never been.

The sun is coming up, and to the east, away from the city, it is blinding.

On the edge of the desert, a square of green dead ends into coarse sand.

Stately and new houses already abandoned, and I was late to the party.

Their are only ghosts here, and skittering shadows inside that don’t know my name.

Coffee at a kitchen table in a house that looks cozy, but demons ruin everything for me.

All my treasures and comforts offer nothing, where I have only time, and my buzzing thoughts.

I can remember the girl that bought me the poster for some obscure Russian art film I loved.

But she is gone, and I am here, and I can’t find where my new friends are waiting for me.

Coffee in a travel cup, a thin sweatshirt and sweatpants, and I’m heading to the desert.

There is an angel there, there is a tower of bright light and ivory, where she welcomes the lost.

She will hear the honeyed prayers and grant me rest, show me the way back to a home in this world.

Out in the desert she waits, the sun would not lie to me, would not lead me astray.

But still, there’s a gun in the glove compartment, if I’m let down one more time.