baklava

It's these opaque days seen through grime tinted shades
when you've been talking to yourself too much
that you become involved with the subtleties
of your feet sinking into the floor,
ensconced in macabre day dreams
of water, you're surprised that you manage to consume so much
with all the fear roiling around in that stuff
it's living in the food you eat grown by unknown hands,
does that put their blood in your stomach,
it's in the clothes you wear, which smell faintly
of displacement and sorrow woven in with the stitches.
Stretch your surprise until it looks like chagrin
when you realize you're almost content with this
reduced life, internal prattling with past and future,
it's their company you keep, present is never anywhere but in her cups,
and its just as well when the infinite can be held in your hand
while now is so close to the eyes that it slips by unknown.
You know that this growing heavy is inevitable
that one day the ground will shiver and refuse to hold your weight,
you feel the possibility of being plunged into the unknown
with the monster that waits, and it isn't with fear
but a warm relief, to be embraced-
your mother didn't realize it was death you inhaled
when you struggled forth and wailed those first perfect sounds-
reliability should be comforting, but we alternate between angry and afraid.
In the dark life looks like a poorly done painting
found in a thrift store when you were young
of a little boat tossed in waves of brown and green and gray
thick paint tossed on by the untrained
and you bought it, liked the texture you say
it doesn't wipe away all that's been done wrong
but builds layers upon.
What are you made of,
if not manifold layers separated by everyman's heartache-
then thin sheets of nothing I say, an over indulgent baklava of decay.

Salt

The air is tepid
stagnant as the swamps that puncture this swollen land
I was born to this, welcomed in August
my squalling form balking at the lack of temperature control
sweat beads unbearably
where skin touches skin or cloth
as if this large organ forgets how to breathe here
and I wonder if I could drown in it.
In a show of irony
to follow with the theme of things
I am chilled bone cold and ill
with the feeling of feet that sweat like ice
left under this cruel unseasonal sun.
Whisper, I hear your mind
wading through the same crush
perhaps we will be battered in the same wave
and salt will finally feel fresh on weathered skins.
I move through the house
cradle my cat, but salt does not penetrate his coat
so I stroke until the air turns black with fur,
if I had a decent lamp
this space would be red and brown
but even animals are untrustworthy now.
I don't think about words like,
of course we move through alone
and, how could anyone think otherwise
when recalling our beginnings and conjuring our ends,
because there are no words left, only their ghosts,
feeble ineffectual feelings.
I remember when I was a kid and smile for that time
before I was forced to accept myself.
I move through the house
I touch my fingers together, every rough tip
as if that were doing something
as if time must be occupied
before I realize I'm pressing too hard
too late and I'm causing myself pain,
it seemed perfectly normal at the time.
Objects are extracted and moved
I feel their futility in my hands
an unbearable weight, beautiful waste
furniture is pushed around
shoved beneath hands so covered in salt
that I might slip and crash to the floor like
surf breaking, but less majestically
and with no beautiful sounds.
Shut my phone up with the silverware
so that it can learn to become more useful
hide my eyes to keep my mouth company
someone must see me smile.
I don't think of strange words
and what particular meanings they might possess for me.
Expressions are all pulling in the wrong places
I've got sleeves on my legs
and socks pulled up over my wrists
and I wonder why I'm looking so crooked in the mirror
mouth on backwards and I'm forgetting how to speak.

speak in tongues

Lets speak in tongues
saturate ourselves in heated silence
tie our fingers together and trade eyelids
id like to see what it looks like
peaking out from someone else's blood,
lets forget everything we've ever done
or never did
and try to live
like the animals I've always known we was.
Let's speak in tongues
and win each other over to our better sides,
ill open you up and fix yours if you'll work on mine
I might need to be rewired
but you look like a handyman
who has a habit of keeping his hands busy
so retie the strings that snapped
and spread white dye on the outside,
all this work could take a lifetime,
and you're on the clock but I aint payin a dime.
Tuck me in, I'll sleep for years
in between,
fold me up like a card table
after you brush off that old puzzle
and we'll see whats changed
when we manage to unwrap our skin
and wander out from this haze.