I see her

I see her

Suspended an arms length above

Light as a feather, stiff as a board

Buoyant with Powders and potions

Powerful enough to rip the stakes out of her restraints

Allow her to float away

I point my finger in an accusatory tone

(after all, they’ll ask whose fault it was)

And use my front teeth to rip a sliver of skin from it

A tawdry souvenir

Like the sheets she relinquished her lungs upon

I call for her to descend

Put her feet back on the ground

Remind her that she’s forgotten something

Who left me in charge anyway??

There’s the true culprit


“A labor of love, and that labor lost”

-Sylvia Plath

A sterile hospital wall is our only division

Erect, we hover over infants in their death incubators

Commune with our own conceptions of Whoever is responsible

Whisper life-saving affirmations

We breathe slowly,

In this place beyond oxygen,

Without gravity

our occupancy

lengthens the brevity of each idle second simply because we’ve held fast to a small semblance of our own mortality

We remain in this trancelike state until

God has tallied the scorecards,

Justice has weighed our transgressions

The scales have blindly spoken

Her scream penetrated me in the most intimate manner

At first, Clarity confounded me

As it leaked from behind my eyes

I began to choke on the stillness

Straight from her now quiet newborns chest

It reverberates through my vocal chords

For a second, I could’ve sworn the death

Announcement was mine

Those piercing shrieks were mine

For reasons that transcend

Affluence and privilege;

The sparse momentos people like me hold Delicately, fearful they might shatter and our entire concept of faith would

go on to be lost with them…..

We are so blissfully unsure of consciousness

Or what establishes one

as one which thrives

While another nuzzles into its own suicidal delicacy and capitulates

Either way, the clatter between my ears

Settles and I’m useless to tame

My feverish inquiries

“If each petition is lifted into

The celestial sphere with the exact same

Rhythm, why was mine blessed enough to remain written?”

I could only hope to convince myself

She would cope, learn to occupy a certain numbness,

Overlap it’s silent provocation with the

Sort of indulgent memorial typical

When burying your first born before the

Momentum even commenced.

Disappearing Act

I find stillness

Beside pangs of suspension

I’m worn

Dull around the edges

As sea glass

And just as weathered

Four months ago you knew me

Now it seems circumstances

Let you forget

I talk to your dial tone

It tells me I might look familiar

Though how you recognized me

You can’t put your finger on

Or couldn’t

Or wouldn’t admit that you once had

I’ll go back later

Dust for prints

…..we’ll find me

If there’s enough of me left

That’s not entombed


Captivity has taken to me

State time, I qualified

And you, you haggard psych

Absently fondle a phantom goatee

“What medicine will blunt the edges of my mania, Doc?”

You speak in potions

I speak in puddles

A muddled distraction of “moderation”

(What a great suggestion)

Ill attempt to color the grey area

Without falling in

Must I slice my pretty wrists

Let my veins do the talkin?

As you can see, I can spell world backwards

And the people I talk to are me

So the voices I hear are my own

Unquiet mind; torrid flutter

I wait within

My rage is simple

You advise me to disclose

With no intention of a cure

I am a few fragments

Of a few injuries

Too torturous not to embrace

Often I live in the dark parts

Excuses to crave

Cover my collapses with an opiate elixir

It’s normal protocol

The souls of those whose sanity is fragile

fascínate me

Convinced I must remedy their burdens

Counsel their demons

I’ve survived somehow

So I owe this debt


I knew better

convinced myself there was a grey area

Room for interpretation

And you, a regular gumshoe

Uncovered my deception

I knew better

Yet I had to gnaw away at the

Verity of my commitment to you

Any sense of loyalty we erected

I don’t see a way to alleviate the

Severity of my infractions

My omissions mock me

Stick to me like the web I was captured in

You asked me for a candid experience

While my appearance remained veiled


Who gets to choose who has unlimited access to their vices? I am labeled for mine when everyone pointing the finger gets to carry on and use theirs to get by. I have to remain the poor little sober hand who is reduced to clonidin and ambien. Reduced to sweating like a pig, breaking out and twitching like a rat in a cocaine experiment whose just been injected with go-go juice?

I get to sit in my misery with a plastic smile plastered on my face and mumble the words “I’m getting by, time heals all wounds,” when I know that what time really does is pile one wound atop another until all one can see is the festering, puss bubble of your collection of wounds. Finally, when the smell is too putrid, the pain too poignant, and the priests are all busy dipped in their own versions of serenity….that’s when this thing will overtake me.