The Sparrows

Upon the sparrow’s song that wakes the sun I’ve come to remember what happened when the moon broke in the sky. Do you remember? Do you see me lick my lips because I’m remembering the taste from yesterday—of your lips upon mine. Yours are like curls in coconut clouds. Here your essence drowns in the ecstasy of a dream.

I feel that my words travel like empty vessels across the perplexed wind. Like somewhere along the way they get jumbled in the frost of winter’s sorrow and the decease of city’s pollution.

And yet the bird still sings.

She sings even when she knows the world is crumbling beneath her delicate feet. She sings an earnest pitch—she sings for him. Her little prince is flapping his heart’s wings to her melody. Pure with every beckon. Come back to my limbs, out stretched and searching for the time when our hearts ticked the same. Remember me?

I am the cold slither of the sea weed between your toes. I am the twinkle in your eye when you wake alone. I am the breeze curling your dark chocolate hair. I am the reason your hands are itching in the cold. They remember me. Do you?

Close your eyes and remember the time we sang through the moonlight in a dream. Close your eyes and remember a shared smile just because it felt real. Close your eyes and kiss the air and remember all the kisses we shared. Close your eyes and hold me through the echo of solitude because I hold you.

Tell me, my sparrow, do you sing for the memories—do you sing for me? Do you hear me when I remember all the things left undone. Do you hear me when I remember all the things we have done. I think I’m falling in love for you—is that foolish when it’s falling in all the wrong ways. I close my eyes and smile alone because it feels real. I’m smiling even though the love is fading and I’m not sure what I’m holding on to. I feel myself break, my voice cracks, I’m trying to keep the melody chiming across the wind. But it’s fading with the pollution.

Sing to me, my sparrow, the melody you heard me say before time collapses our hearts. Let the barbwire not ensnare you when you come for me. Let the hawk not steal you from the heavens. Let the bullet dart past you from the hunter’s greed. Let the foxes not trap you in their fangs and let the winter blizzards or the spring monsoon not dampen your spirits.

There just beyond the sunset and the sunrise, just beyond the chaos of yesterday, is where you’ll find me waiting.

Hello feeble you,

Don’t let those eyes fool you into thinking you were the stitch that held every fiber together. ‘Cause you weren’t. Don’t let the tip of your tongue slip that word—they think you’re so innocent. If only they knew how provocative you really were. If only they knew you like I do. But they don’t.

If only they knew how much you craved to scratch yourself out of your own skin starting at your eye sockets that trickles every night. Or start by peeling the corner of your lips where you force that illusive smile. There it tastes like acid in the back of your throat. Let it sit there because I know that’s how you like it.

I know how much you yearn to sink your nails into the wrinkles of the lies. I know how much you want to peel everything naked to its decaying core. Like floral wallpaper.

I can hear you splitting. I can hear where your spine shuffles between your ribs. I can see where your organs bleed out the infection—bubbling and fizzing bursting with ooze. I can almost taste you rotting away.

I can almost taste the words you say to yourself every time you break. I can hear the words you scream now that your lips are torn from your face—no one else hears such words. I have listened to the echo in your feet because you don’t know where you’re going. I can hear how mislaid you are. Your feet know better than you give them credit for.

I know how your fingers curl—they mean different things. I can feel them wrap around the air. I know you’re pretending for something more. You can’t deny yourself that. Don’t lie and say you don’t know your heart leaped behind your eyes when you saw them kissing. You know what it reminds you of. I know what you wondered the moment you saw it. You thought someone else felt the same. Don’t kid yourself. It’s not going to happen.

I’ve never known someone so determine to sink their teeth into the air. Yet I know your mind is only giving you the image you want. It sugar coated the reality so you could deal. Because your words have done nothing. This is how it must be. You may find me bitter but you know why I say this. Don’t you? No one else told you no, no one else knows you like I do. Just think about it.

Sincerely,
Feeble you

Spiteful

I drove searching for the slither of memory. Where the pot holes in the road remind me of you. The speed bumps, the house we claimed our own. The road I drove down everyday sounds different. And when I drive past certain places I feel a magnetic pole directing me—my heart’s compass—and it wonders why I keep going past my normal destination. Parts of me forget the reality—parts of me refuse to believe it—my lips are tinted red and chapped from trying to taste the essence you left behind.

I search through windows, at faces, at cars rushing by. I’m searching for another glimpse of you. I’m tempted to buy the scent you always wore—but I should know better. And yet I search for you in the sandwiches people buy, in the roar of a car’s engine, in the groves of the sand where you paced over. I look for you in the words I see, and the pillows you squeezed. I look for your finger prints on the things you touched. I dig in my past searching for your smile and for the countless ways you said I love you. For all the surprised hugs and taps, hands grasps and places we thought we’d see.

I look for you in the twists of grass blades, the wave of water, the frosted cloud in a sunset. I look for you in the folds of vanilla ice cream and the textured of a young man’s shaved face. I look at a couple and blur them into looking like us—but I look away with a ridged spin—why do I fool myself.

I want to believe that this feeling deep within me is true. It seems to think you’ll find your way back to me—that we’ll find our way back to each other. Part of me wants to rip it where it rests and smear it on the asphalt outside your house. So that when you pull out your drive way it’s you who feels burned and not me.

I feel so sick—how can I think such things. How can I be so spiteful. How can you be talking to that girl. How does she see you now that you’re without me. How do you feel.

When will I stop feeling.


October 11, 2009

Should Have

I chew on your words till the taste is no longer there—till the love seeps out my eyes—swollen and hollow in ways I didn’t know could. I feel you slip away from the core of my throat—the heart I choke on. I feel my insides drop at random moments throughout the day—I forget my reality. Sometimes I crave the solitude of my bed and for my eyes to close so I may silence my pain. But I’m reminded that it’s the silence that causes the pain—I whisper to myself, good night my love. I wonder when I’ll stop wishing you goodnight. Will I ever hear such words cross your lips again?

I want to pull myself away from whatever remains—which is very little now. I want to cry in ways I never thought I could and I want to scream out words I never thought I’d say. I want to bring about a fierce rage that I never thought I could muster. But my limbs and words are all but stunned parts that be.

I would have held you tighter on the days I thought I never lose you. I would have kissed you longer on the goodbyes, not realizing the last one was coming. I would have written something more beautiful had I known it would have been the last.

I would have said I love you, one last time had I known I’d never be able to say it again. I would have captured every breath of affection you brushed upon my skin, had I known I’d go without them for so long.

Time tempt me to do things I never thought I’d do. May it pass in such a way I won’t feel it—don’t give me the chance to ponder things I know I shouldn’t do.

Keep-Kept Memory

Pencil lead write me no lies—
hand grip and sweaty palms lay astray.
Bring me to the surface where the sun never sets
and the moon always beams.
Where the breeze is neither warm nor cold—
where things are and never were.
Memories grip on the rim of his cliffs,
my breath is dangling—
do I hold it or set it free.

I wander through this realm—
people blur and yet I see your face on theirs.
Is this you coming back for me
or is this you whispering good-bye.
Is this you showing who takes your side—
one that I molded for myself.
Is that why my other half has gone missing.
Is that why parts of me echo.

Who’s calling my name. I look, is it you?
Is it you whose feet patter next to mine?
Is it you whose warmth wraps around my waist?
Is it you who whispers I love you.
Is it you whose hands have grasped mine.

Was it not you who said I’d be kept.
Yet when I turn the feet are vacant,
the warmth is a shiver,
the whisper is the wind—
lonesome is a reminder.

Was it not I who let you free—
now it is you,
how did that come to be?

My eyes feel empty and my hand slurs these words—
I can’t let them roll upon the page—
who am I speaking to, my blank page friend only knows.
If my eyes scream will anyone hear—
will you.
When my smile is empty will anyone see me break—
will you.
When I say I love you and keep me—
will you.

That Which is Broken

Here to behold,
is a face left untold
a remedy for the cure,
a kink in the lure.

The dream set by beams
the lakes swallowed by leaves
and this, my dear friend, I do believe.
My glory of moon and shadow of sun we achieve--

Greatness by the fingers of passion,
the desolation by discrimination.
The shout upon our bitter ends,
the twine that held us--denies.

Every ticket stub, every photo's frame,
through the memory condemned in vain.
True be still, lie be vibrant
this soul, this heart be a transplant--

To a body--not this.
To a soul--no bliss.
Held in hands who kept
lips motionless that wept.

Here

We lye here naked and broken in places that don’t feel. Twisted vines that scrape our souls and through the crevasse I’m peakin’—memory don’t fail me. Of a wind who whistles, who rustled, who chimed the heavens and chanted the smoke. A wind who shrieked over the mountains that would not move, of mountains that would not speak—hear me now.

We lye here tainted and sown in holes we’ve created. Our hands have joined countless times before. The first, my memory has failed me. But your grip has always been the same. A hand of sun at times would fizz with warmth and tingle with passion—a pulse through yours flows through mine. My lips curled—you’re funny when you offer your hand as though you aren’t permitted to take my own. Take it—I enjoy the occasional surprised spark of skin. Of yours upon mine.

We lye here loved and words don’t come with sound. Our eyes meet and suddenly the earth blurs—you’re all my mind sees. And though the music chimes my ears don’t capture a sound. But suddenly they ring when my arms first grasp your soul, pressed upon my own. I reached beyond my shell and hugged a young man.

We lye here in shoes that leap and hearts that pound. I remember the first time you did not speak to me. This passion and worry spirals like frost amongst a fall breeze. You held your tongue and your eyes screamed yet lowered and bashful. There before me was a vase—flowers of rainbow blooming and a card that read: I love you. This, you held before a heart true. I believe you but my lips don’t repeat it.

We lye here smiles spreading and smiles collapsing. Our lips have pressed million times before—million times more. Laugh through the morning, the night, the yesterday, for the tomorrow. The flushed red cheeks, the punch lines, and the playful punches themselves. The laugh till your tears know no boundaries and the sorrows knows no depth. May the shoulder know every tear. May the shoulder know every joy. May your hands be the palms that hold my face, may my voice be the last that you hear.

We lye here dreaming and stars grasp between our fingers. The flicker of a dream dims and brightens. A strive for greater things. The stage full of bright lights—we stand clapping, an award in your hand. Those eyes gleam and your voice beckons—throttle in that dream. And me, the words print on pages, a story with pieces of ourselves. Let them know.

We lye here in music notes and the keys are pounding. I whisper to you, that I love you. Do you hear me? Perhaps the wind carried my words wrong. May the piano pound them into their keys. Once played, may everyone remember. My soul drains—bring this to you, piece me together. Piece you together. Forgive me—my broken love. Here the music sounds, my words exasperated in the notes. Slur into your own. My fingers pound—the louder I play, will you hear it.

We lye here waiting for the steps to be taken. Horizon clouded and the dust falls and blankets—sand suffocating me. Breathe it in or breathe it not. Raise a head, or lower in confusion. Move forward, move backwards, move somewhere. Towards each other. Say it louder. Say it colder. Say it bold. Say it soft. Sing it high and low. Sing it for the first time, may it be the last time. May it be repeated with a smile. May your voice be heard again in such a way. May the tears not come when I miss you. May they not miss you to begin with. May my hand always fold into yours. May my love never lose you. May you not love someone else—as you had love me. As you have.

We lye here wondering why we stand still. Grip your clothes, reaching for that soul you’ve hid. Tangled in your string. I smile. I don’t intend to snip them and you wonder why I decided not. I grip the words you spoken to me before. I rub the hands that held you. I wrap my arms around the air, around a pillow, this be you. Pounding the keys again, do you not hear me still? You wonder why I keep you, why I kept you, what is past—is it still present? Do I manipulate the thoughts that spin. Why lose myself in someone else. Fish myself out you–not.

I stand here where we stood wondering how to hold you again. Tying the knots back into ourselves. Do you string? Look at me and ask yourself—is there another? Hold me and say, could you hold another. What does time really prove—only that you’ll miss me longer. Pounding the strings, the piano keys. Folding you into my being. Keeping you like a letter through time. Words be strong for me—I say.

I stand here pleading. My fingers fail me—my memory may fail me. But that’s foolish thought. I will always smell your fragrance, your essence on the breeze and wonder where you have gone. Can I cage the wind in a jar—can I press the cold glass against me and believe it you. Your face will reflect in every passerby—is this you coming for me? Cradled my soul in your hands like you had before. Wish me goodnight when nights are long. I imagine the roar of your car around the corner, that alluring smile peaking.

I stand here crumbling. The more I remember—the more I wish it stayed. But there’s no shoulder to know the tears. There’s no wind to carry my voice. What would you hear when it came—what would you remember when it fade—memory be still.

Winter's Messenger

Ice upon a Snow Queen’s lashes
glisten once more—
tears harden and snowflakes capture her breath.
Threads of hair turn sapphire blue
merge with the frost.
Her face becomes marble in its frame—
summer come no more—
the sorrow in a winter’s wind.

Snow Queen, sleeping beauty,
where has your King gone.
"A broken twine between us,"
she whispers.
Spiral of dread erupts from her snowflake line lips—
turning blue.
“Are you listening,
to me?”

How far does the wind travel—
how long will Winter’s breathe knock till you answer,
Mister Summer,
hands fierce and warm,
what jobs you’ve held
when moon is swallowed by your fire.

“Mister Summer, she asks you,
where have you gone and why you have not come.”
“Tell her,” he says, “that I am Mister Summer and she, Miss Winter
and through the days may our feet grow weary.
For I will always be chasing for her—
as she for me.

“When the sun rises and the moon falls,
and when the moon climbs and the sun dives,
may our feet never stick as the earth turns.
May the trees turn colors,
may the flowers reach from beneath her snow.

May her love be as bitter
as her gripping frost
and may my rage be as fierce as my blaze.
May she not forget our children, we love so dearly.
Spring, the daughter of love.
Fall, the son of glee.”

And so the Snow Queen despised such a reply
and as the earth turned
her bitterness thicken and so did the snow.
Ice spread like a massive flood.
“Let him know,” her brows pinched together,
“how deep my love goes when he finally reaches
the surface of my core.”

And so the Ice Age came and with the years
Mister Summer found her core.
Life flourished where ice melted.
He smiled not knowing why she hid,
such a secret for him.

And now as earth turns,
and the surface glimmers with heat,
her ice melts and she embraces his warmth.
“Let her know,” He says, “how deep my love goes
when her last tear melts away.”

Lucky Penny

I was seven when there laid a penny—
copper beamed like the Grand Canyon.
I heard it was unlucky—
a penny on tails.
My fingers griped it,
eager to fill my piggy bank.
Luck or not, it chimed the same
inside a jar full of change.

It was nine o’clock when there laid my little brother—
face white like my mother’s wedding dress.
I heard him chocking earlier—
I thought nothing of it.
My fingers pressed his lips blue,
eager to understand why this was so.
Motionless or not, dead looked the same
inside his red vein eyes.

I was twelve when there laid a penny—
copper stained like mint green toothpaste.
I heard it was unlucky—
a penny on tails.
My fingers curled in a fist tight,
eager to remind myself of that memory.
Luck or not, there that penny be the same
inside my guilt for my brother—gone.