whisperings

These prints proclaim my separateness.
(throat thickens, heart quickens, brow furrows into restless desperation).

“How do I reinvent the past?” 
            or, even more anxiously,

“Must I destroy it?”

Ancient words ring audibly.
Words of proud families and excited friends.

It was natural. 
     It was usual. 
           It was comfortable. 
                It was expected.
Like those first noticed warm breaths in the morning. 
Like the feeling of feet in shoes.

If everyone was so sure then, how am I supposed to fit?

From this angle, I’m much too small. 
I fit in the cupboard that’s forgotten on the corridor. 
Mind-forged fetters contain me - but how could I complain? 

,,

the past and present
they sidle and gently whisper

these irreconcilable two 
somehow saturate
and lose their 

boundaries bleed
together they're as real
as a walk down a
peat path

the two tied
and one haunts the other
until reality ceases

and I hate it
I can pull and push
grit my teeth and kick their welded bonds
I would try anything to

detach 

but I'm the walker on the peat path

my inhales and exhales create the rhythm that fuels them and
independence raises a white flag.

skin

and the wind really does howl, love.
you can hear it coming, thundering, like timpanis
just before it tries to take you with it on its undoubtedly malevolent course
"it’s only skin" he says, sleep-talking
but it is this skin that’s pierced by icy incisors.
this skin, here
the one gaping and hollow
holding the bones being gnawed at
day after day after day.

it’s only skin, yes, yes you’re right,
it’s only skin that contains and protects.
perhaps I’m coming to that
this skin, this skin here,
is not enough.

wuthering

time stagnates.
like childhood, I wait for the door to unlock
for the crack in the corner to elongate
break apart and release
into Canaan
or at least the freedom of any familiarity
until then
I rise in silence, darkness,
accompanied by the ghoulish wind
that winds itself in circles
around this stone-encapsulated town.

lines composed at 37,000 feet in half-sleep

skin cracking

dirt covering

knees buckling

dig

layers then layers

sandstone, limestone

rock quarries

the belly, the gut

the soul of the earth 

the hidden within

then - 

suddenly -

the space between

and we inhale.

north star

constant,
unwavering

to wrestle beneath
this guardian of the night

a guide homewards.

ruach

I do not feel afraid
The sadness has passed
I am linear
I flow
Always forward
Against my roots
Against myself
But on the wind
But for myself.