Last Days

They are penultimate,
next to last
an almost end.

Each day is a cliff hanger...

a script whose final act

never comes.

It seems strange to cling to the next

and beg for the last,

a thanksgiving

quickly folded into an envelope marked

"past due".

How is it that the sun

rises with hope

and sets with disappointment

that another day will dawn?

He thinks me ungrateful

unable to wrap his arms

around the girth of this juxtaposition,

but it's really quite elementary.

The day is so beautiful

but how much more so

eternity.

Window Shop

I’m not much for delicate
but it was dually delicate and hard
like biker wear made of lace
and perhaps it was just these oppositions
that drew my face to the window

I pressed my nose
in oily grease between the sweaty imprints
of my palms
and left my name scrawled
in condensation across the bodice of a dress
I wished to wear

I returned day after day after day
pressing ever closer to the glass
concerned the garment
would find purchase on another frame
and my ruminations became plots to retain
and exercises in endurance

I had no coin, nothing to barter
and layaway seemed the best option
someday to own
someday to pay
but the shoulders already wore dust
loudly stating their need
not for eyes, but
for arms

Truth - always

Don't hide anything from me,
least of all your failings.
For I have whipped recital wings
against my own practiced body...
You have no idea.

You should know that

it's your failings that make you

oh.so.beautifully relatable.

"Perfect" people are just

the bottom step of a spiral ladder,

with lives that just keep swirling

below reality.

There is no profit in the untrue.

You think you weren't already worthy

enough in this heart,

propagated by God Himself?

My eyes have clouded

and my memory has dimmed...

but I know you.

I birthed you and grew you

under the roof my parents built above me

which they taught was THE WAY.

We all have history to dismantle

brick by brick

or to climb

step by step.

I tore it down sweetheart.

There was no foundation left,

or so I thought....

as if the physical removal of heart

could also brain matter

remove.

And so I dig.

And so should you.

When The Glitter Wears Off

I saw a thousand diamonds

rolling across the surface of the deep,

like the shimmer I wore once

when life was simpler

and ignorant ducks all followed in line.

Who knew the smallest breeze

could blow the glitter elsewhere

and I, left rather dull

and naked.

Am I the Emporer?

Where are my clothes?

Had I ever really owned such regalia?

Or was I dull from the start,

wearing you like a charm?

Then I realized how lopsided it all is.

What is a charm without a bracelet

or a bracelet without an arm?

I am the anchor

without which

glitter gathers dust

in a closet of desire. 

It is MY arm

decorated to my pleasure

that meets your pleasure

or it doesn't.

But it's my fucking arm.

I think you understand now,

right?

I choose the charm

and the glitter is the light I shine

on my own skin.

Glass House

What's it going to take?

What pound of flesh?

It's not really what I did...

it's what was done before, that caused the bedrock

of your unforgiveness.

You want me over a barrel

digging out from a deficit

day by day by day,

and you thinking you're faultless.

In the end

you gutted me,

barrel be damned.

I was drawn and quartered

by your need to play God

to make me confess,

to make me pay

for your paranoia.

Your house is glass also.

How will you fare

with all those stones?

The Wind Outside

The waters are agitated,

waves reigning havoc since day break.

They crash against the rocks

the wind bending branches at shoreline.

The cabin is oddly bereft of the storm

although every other instance

wind has howled through like a freight train,

scattering papers

depositing dust.

Why today...

when the storm within me rages

has God blocked the wind?

He's left it for me to see

but protects me from it's consequence.

Even stranger,

I wanted to feel it's fierceness

to know it's power

the strength of my foe.

God whispers

"It's not your foe.

It's not your storm."

Shit Show

Things have gone to shit

as they often do,

and no one is really sure

if we want the show to go on.

The banquet is set

costumes bejeweled

but the magic has left the stage.

The show must not go on

for the damage...

the damage done.

Will it break us?
Will it build us?

May we be renewed?

Or was it a poorly written play,

a show for love

not of love,

a need for applause

not worthy of such things?

What the hell did you do?

I warned you.

You warned me off.

I complied, and

I failed you.