Merry Christmas

New year will bring more posts, at least one a week.

That's my NYResolution at least...

In the meantime enjoy the holiday and love your family, despite everything they do.

Mark

Archway

My dad took the door off its hinges
and built an archway in its place.
It made it easier to move
in and out of the room.

What inspired you to do this? I asked.
Discovery Home and Leisure, he said.
All those hours spent wisely watching
welders and woodworkers sanding/burning things
Into shapes

The fall was a six feet drop,
we never thought about jumping off.

This Happened

The glass in front of your eyes does nothing
to hide your smile. A keeper (your words).
A goalie? I asked. No, your first rebuff.
(Her hands are like butter)

As she spoke they spread, palms upturned -
showing the innocent bend in her finger -
I took them into me and she melted, like wax
in warmth.

The distance between us
is the space of two breaths
that burn the pink of our lips.
We cool it with a change of rules.

And this has never happened.
But now I guess it does.

An Old Poem With No Title

I was by no means cajoled, but induced quite quick,

into a half conscious split,

where reason and love and

envy and guilt

are all blanched and borderless.

Pictures in parks, misshaped clouds,

an empty scent - misjudgingly pointed out.

white lies then truths,

and an absent rachis which rearranged the brain

and all its functions.

I thought only of the flame,

and forgot about the light.

Love

Shake well to lift the natural sediment.
Perishable. Keep refrigerated.
Not suitable for Vegetarians.
Once defrosted consume within five days.
Shake well. Separation is natural.

A relay of a moment

Three glances across meshed glass,
the folds in an old poster
still standing strong.

The void is normally in your gut.
Your mind feels intact.
Tear glands prepare themselves.

In a few words my heart
twisted into a puzzle and the blood
wouldn't reach my hands.

Don't look at me with those eyes,
they make me feel thin.

Days Transpose

The Cape

The cape was warm,

the sweat came mostly from his back.

He fingered the stitch that made him him,

then signed his name in the mirror,

cast in steam.

You can do this, he told his eyes

over and over again.

You've overcome worse.

The C in heart,

the S in the reflection,

the Y in pants,

clawing at his groin.

The heavy R in his hand,

the D quivering on the trigger.

Next day the papers lead,

blaming it on the pressure.

knock it back

like it's medicine and wait

for something sweet

to take away the taste

Vascular Sizood

Fret not, a knot has found itself and caught
a heart that beats itself to death, hiding
the hands that bleed with love and hide within
a place they named the suprasternal notch.