messy wisdom

After Night by Elie Wiesel

Anguish
What had happened to me?
Prisoners
There they went,
Defeated
As if we had a choice
An open tomb
Empty and dead
A piercing cry
Alone in the world
Weak, frightened, vulnerable
Hunted down creatures
Silent, motionless
Souls condemned to wander
Was I still alive? Was I still awake?
Hell doesn’t last forever
Surely it was a dream

nibble on my skin until the bone shines
my serpentine silhouette painted on the wall
drag your thumb against my merlot-stained lips
lie on my linen and shed your skin raw

labyrinthine rumination subtly sipped away
escaping the flicker of bitter despair 
our bodies a delirious rhapsody,
the trembling heroism of two souls laid bare

won't you sing with me 'til morning?

I see myself in his margins

we are synonyms
ink for blood
indentations with stains dried
ripped at our perforations 

and in the witching hour
we beg to be poured over,
devoured and deciphered 
broken at the spine

craving the heat of the godlight
while retreating to evade the loupe

I am not sorry for killing myself.

You may think I didn’t deserve this,
and truthfully, you may be right
I didn’t deserve a life of treading water,
so I softly sank to the ocean floor instead

Or maybe I did deserve it.
Did I not earn every bruise?
How do you keep yourself from singing along
to a melody consistently sung for you?

If I am not tainted,
remember me now that I am gone
In every Noah Kahan song
and strong Philly accent
In every eyeroll at an inane joke
and “we should start a podcast”
In every moment when it’s too loud
and entirely too quiet

I snuck away on Halloween,
in the company of monsters concealed in shadows
and skeletons camouflaged among the living
I was once the haunted house,
but now I am just
home.

Am I destined to listen to the birds croon as I 
clench my own hand through the dark?

How I long to repair my lead glass heart, 
its cullet scattered beneath my skin

Oh, to be a kaleidoscope, 
held to the mirror so even in the shards, 
I may be beautiful

Will my love always be received with latex gloves?

Mom knew I loved outer space so like a wandering star
she slipped into my bedroom
constructed the cosmos on the ceiling with cheap tacky,
a glow-in-the-dark nebula of comets and stardust

And in the light of the aurora,
she carefully painted my walls carnation pink
with a baby blue trim
and hemmed clandestine gardens of
fairies romping in flowers yet to bloom
Often in twinkling nights, 
the fairies would waltz
along with her soft hum in the distance

And when my world was enveloped in darkness,
black holes ever cavernous,
I’d look up to Mom’s constellations
and remember how she gave me the sky.

after K

I hope my last words are dirty

I hope I am survived by a bittersweet symphony of 
spasmodic giggles and vulgar cries

I’ll sneak into my night on timid tiptoes and
whisper sharp nothings into your pinned ears

I’ll be the light at the end of the tunnel,
composing a tight five on your paper lungs

I hope my last words are dirty
For I no longer desire to be so certain of what is on the other side

But rather, 
to be certain that I will be survived by gentle eye rolls and
tacit grins - 

Signs of life well lived.

I know I had too much to drink
I don’t know what I was wearing
or how long it took you to get into my bed
I remember the lapses in my memory and
the lack of judgment in yours

I know I had too much to drink
and I know you were wholly conscious
You promised to take care of me,
tell me, where did you stow your conscience?

And maybe the actions don’t make the man, but
maybe his excuses do

I know I didn’t say yes
or maybe or soon or later

I said nothing
during your reckless abandon of me
I said nothing
because I was under an influence
I said nothing 
because I should have been at rest
I said nothing 
to aid and abet your stained glass reputation
while cutting myself on the shards of my memory 
 
In the darkness, 
I said nothing

I said nothing
I said nothing
I said nothing

Singsong serenades from Black-Capped Chickadees
Clammy bodies like a skein across the trail 
Cr-cru-crun-crunch of Autumn leaves under feet
Backpacks like boulders on Sisyphus’s sleepy shoulders
Unleashing nose-wrinkling odors of spoiled onion and meat

And when we finally find nature’s Swarga Loka
Our shriveled tongues panting for sweet relief
We dance in freezing waters like Sarasvati
And slide like skipping stones down smooth springs
A bucolic paradise of cerulean blue and emerald green

Oh, these halcyon days.