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Let me carry you to California(1.)
It’s just on two years
just after 4:30am
and you’re calling
and you’re crying
and you say my dad died
and my very first thought
on the bleak and empty porch
in the grey/green light of the Bay
with the promised sun
still caught below the waterline
is that I will see you again.
(2.)
Sarah
I’ll come for you in Colorado
and carry you to California
I’ll wipe the salt from your burning eyes
and listen
to the childhood memories
of you so young
and vibrant wild
I’ll take the sorrowed sobs
from your tired, worn-out body
and place them into mine
we are bruised and we are broken.
But I promise
I can fix this
and in the early hours aftermath
of your midnight, melancholy dreams
I will look down upon you
and stroke your sun bleached cheeks
and somehow, before the rising sun
we can, the two of us pretend
I gave us both a better chance.
Sarah. Let me carry you to California.
hunter.though i am the
lonely sea –
a blithely dead
& quiet body,
my daughter
married that demon
apollo & carried
his bastard child
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tide of changefloating in high tide
far out beyond the breakers
finally I escaped you
A Life Half Living
Wheels screamed across the tarmac, the harsh sound meshing with the dull roar of the engine, carving into the morning’s usual empty silence. The van picked up pace as it rumbled through a deserted estate, tracked by the eyeless heads of its inhabitants.
Their screams seeped through the speakers into the van’s interior, where Hector was sitting with four dead men.
“Kygo.” He muttered.
He admired their suits again as a gentle thumping began to reverberate around his head, echoed into the spherical helmets the corpses wore. A sudden movement caught his eye, as the nearest one began to twitch its fingers rhythmically. Another’s head jerked with the most miniscule of movements, and the equaliser display on its torso flickered. Vocals trickled through the speakers around the van, drowning what was left of the creatures’ screams. Hector found he was tapping his foot, and smiled to himself. His fingers beat a tattoo into the stock of his weapon, and he close
The Sea Loves HerShe wears a wreathe
crafted from seagrass and kelp
on the crown of her head,
draped with luminescent bronze hair.
She wears a chain of pearls
each glossed with illustrious nacre,
a single string of thread holding strong,
with a lone abalone shell, burnished to perfection—
no, beyond perfection.
Just like her.
The sea loves her,
nearly as much as I,
and is unwilling to relinquish her;
unwilling to let her be mine.
She wears a gown of Adam's ale,
and by God, she wears it well.
It cascades slowly down her body,
and my eyes can't help but follow,
a prisoner to her spell.
But she's proudest of the heart she holds,
my heart she carries in her wake through the deep.
And it will stay with that eternal wake;
with her forevermore,
until I fall to an everlasting asleep.
The sea loves her,
so much less than I,
yet is greedily holding her,
unwilling to let her be mine.
So I will go to her.
carnival ridesJesus came from smoke & moonshine
so whenever i blow out candles,
i write God a grocery list and
set fire to wax in the back of a church
with waning moons for parishioners.
faith comes and goes like carousels,
so i guess that means that i can count on clowns
but i can't count on light.
galactic children,
crack your glow sticks upon our congregation
like rainfall amidst the baptized first.
i spend more time in bed with myself
than i do whispering secrets into the
onion paper of Bible pages.
i vandalize hymn books with my favorite lines of poetry.
i never bothered to ask God if he was okay with this,
i've just always been apt at assuming too much.
maybe, when my father's language unfurls like a Persian rug,
i will relearn the taste of cotton candy & confection sugar.
i will build monuments for my convictions
to make up for all those times i just faked it.
maybe, like a holy convict, i will shackle myself
to good deeds that do not self-fulfill but, instead,
teach every lesson i
Skin by SimplySilent
