Posts Tagged ‘blood’

Black bird

on my mind.

Peck, caw, tilt head

side to side.

Your dark eyes

are black glass- immobile.

On top of my head

your sharp beak jabs

into my scalp.

Blood trails down

like tears, like red slugs.

I sigh. Your talons have grown

into my skull.

I’ll provide nourishment for you,

if you continue to inspire me.

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O stuck Heart of mine,

you pine for the past-

can you not let go

of what was not meant to last?

 

There is no excuse, now,

not to pump Red to my cheeks-

I have grown cold, with you

behaving thus for weeks.

And the Heart that beat within me

most will mistake for Mine.

But I knew where It truly rests-

It is thine, and thine- and- Thine.

Something gray and infectious

has fallen into human throats.

 

Caught by veins,

those catcher’s mitts, those tiny roots,

 

and carried around

like dandruff.

 

Sir, your eyes are bloodshot!

Sir, you’re retching like a hurricane!

 

Sir! The sun’s been stopped

in the sky!

 

The clouds are hoarding

its light!

 

What a meteoric fall

man’s dug himself into.

 

Whether he’ll live to see

if the sun scorches through

 

those bandages of clouds is another thing.

For now,

 

only the willow’s tendrils move-

the trunk, a headstone.

No less an organ

than the cardiac muscle

and sinew

of a regular human heart.

This heart dreamt.

It dreamt of love

in two hands, clasped;

in four eyes, twinkling;

in lips and words, whispered

and shouted,

and gestures and laughter

and memories

that have yet to be made.

Some of these dreams

turned into wishes,

and the wishes became so strong

they turned into prayers-

much like a chick

turns into a fledgling,

than spreads its wings

and flies.

The heart was shattered

by promises

that held as much weight

as stardust,

sweet words

that disguised the taste of cyanide,

and its own dreams

which it believed too much in

and had its natural rhythm disrupted by.

The shattered fragments

of the glass heart

belong to me.

They dig into my ribs

and say don’t believe

too strong

in dreams.

Dark fields

of coppery wires,

thin, curled, and soft as bedding in a cradle.

Mere glimpses

of patterned, colored cloth.

Stretches of cream

creating uniformity.

 

A red frog leaps in my belly.

Linen wash cloths dipped in warm water are pressed,

delicately, against my cheeks,

my neck.

The frog is kicking,

reaching for his wife

who is also jumping wildly,

pounding against my ribs.

 

I turn away

to simply breathe

and cool the frogs,

pull away from the linen.

 

I swallow,

then take the next step

toward you.

At this moment

snow is falling,

coating spruce trees

in a down of crystals.

There shall be a time

when they fall with great age,

or are plucked from the earth

to make room for progress

and its silver cables.

There shall be a time

when the moon pulls off her mask

and becomes a droplet of blood-

the doom ruby, shining in the sky.

There shall be a time

when heaven spits upon the Earth,

and the creatures flee,

but Man is caught in the fire.

Until that time I will open my mouth,

let snowflakes fall in, an angel within each,

and taste my childhood.