Blackwater

in here

oxygen has stopped moving
a body is melting over a dream
that is alive and well
an intention

blackwater

we intertwine like parasites
we love like decay

i could be convinced to move out of here
but every moon begs for this same
consistency

and I am no moon

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between a bullet and a knife

poetry, suicide, depression, mental health, bipolar disorder

it’s just like a gunshot

these hot words in my head that force
blood to move

for once I am not tar

and the girl on the back of this page
she is certain
I will find a way

she sings it “goes on and on”
and it will

If I don’t stop it myself

Passion Flower

poetry, depression, enlightenment, abuse, being used

because when your gaping petals expand
just to taste the blood of Christ
every velvet ant will find his way
to your core

because when you are born on the mouth of July
you are a sedative blue tongue
and they will come to extract
you from your veins

because your short life is meant to feed
caterpillars, it is impossible
to assume that you would be
collected in the fall
for more

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two honey bees scribble
across Rupi’s milk
her tragic black paperback
blooms

on a blank kitchenette
empty plastic cup
waiting for a purpose
I tell it
“go”
but who am I to
say anything

Rupi says it all

if her grace has been missed
you should find it
gather up her past
in her shadow
and twist it
into purple origami

for me to dry
each drop
that falls because
of ways men
have touched her

Coquette

it doesn’t matter that she is blank
to you
i see her
scribbled in fine
point

so many want her
temptation
I am not alone

in this I have thought
about her since
childhood

so many have had her
some by accident
or not – no matter –
when she craves
a taste of you
she will have you

some do not want her
cold caress
stealing their breath

but others – like me
flirt with her heavy
want
zero our rifles
just enough
to taste silver
before

in a moment

lightning-216659_1280

a moment like that
like this
is crucial

lightning strikes,
dry heat
radiation
takes place

of
the sweet kiss
on my cold shoulder

I find seconds
in days
that last
forever waiting
to speak

whisper even

because tragedy
has hands
that rip through
this soul

this particular soul
that sleeps
like a demon
in benediction

that opens a
bloodshot
mouth
in his direction –

even the desert would
freeze over
if it knew him