through the desert sea

I chiseled out an ancient face
and hanged it in my head
though it was not quite alive as I
was waiting to be dead

we trudged together through a desert
smoked a fat cigar
nibbled on dirty tortoise shells
burned our feet on tar

it went like this for twenty years
or thirty, or probably more
long enough that desert sand
began dripping from my pores

and now my skin has turned to bone
and my pretty name is aging
my ancient face is chiseled out
my brain is disengaging

and though I’m not quite as alive
as I would like to be
I am grateful for my blistering walk
through the desert sea

Never Surrender

Her name is inked across my wrists, so that
when I want to slit them, I don’t. It serves as a reminder,
it serves me well.
It protects me from myself.

Everyone has them, those moments when
life holds you by your throat. You wish it
would choke you,
but it won’t.

So, you dangle in the air, solid ground
swiped from under your feet. You grip on to that
tight embrace around your neck, holding the hands of the suffocator,
trying to pull him off. You search for air,
gasp for breathe, struggle and try to survive. Each time you think that
life has beaten you, it releases it’s grip enough for the oxygen to
sink inside your lungs and tease you with
relief.

Eventually, you want to let go. Let the struggle continue
without you….and sometimes you reach a point that you try.
When that point comes around
for me and I want to let my blood drain free
I see your name
and I am reminded.
I have reasons to keep fighting.