Posts Tagged ‘feel’

The sun is shining

yet I sit inside,

daydreaming of places I’d like to go:

the beach, I used to go

all the time, but then teenage insecurity crept in;

a bike ride, I love the rush of wind

against my skin, but the way back

is uphill;

the forest, always

with such mystery,

such a quiet and mystical place

with sounds from sources unseen,

the scent of earth and trees,

but there’s danger lurking somewhere

and there are bugs that bite.

I sit inside

and think about the places I want to go,

waiting for courage or boredom

to take me there.

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I listen to music with the lights off.

It’s like being asleep,

like lucid dreaming–

aware of the sounds,

but only the sounds, the notes.

I close my eyes

and the music fills me up.

My ears are what hear it;

my heart is what feels it, and pumps

the feeling that is more than just one feeling

throughout my body

and my head is empty,

devoid of probing thoughts,

but quickly filled

with music

and feeling.

My eyes are dry.

My lungs feel like wool sweaters

rolled and stuffed inside me.

Spine is slowly turning into the St. Louis Arch.

Bones stiff as flint.

Muscles like ink pens, exuding

pain from the inside, out.

I’m turning into cardboard.

I’ll be arthritic

before I’m twenty.

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.

While some people go

for cigarettes and alcohol,

they light up to calm down

or take a shot

to make the next move,

I’m not one of these people.

Now, I’m not bragging

or nagging, because this emotional

stew I sup can burn and boil,

or freeze and shatter me.

As messy as life is-

with the bottom of the pit

being brought nearer by red-faced,

angry screaming,

and hitting that dark place

where one curls with legs and arms crossed,

like a baby in the womb, within

a dark corner of nameless room,

I would rather ride this

strange and wonderful tide

(for my pen thrives in this

mixed, primordial sea)

because I know there are smiles

and applause from which

I get my high.

In their rooms they loved each other.

He kept a photograph of her,

she would write about him in her diary.

He would write songs about her.

She would write love letters to him.

In the darkness, he thought about her,

and she of him.

They imagined each others bodies, each others faces.

When they answered each other through meeting

they would smile, faces glowing red, as if from cold.

They would touch, shoulders rubbed gently,

hands clasping– the lock and the key.

They whispered promises to each other,

spoke of dreams in hushed tones filled with wonder.

They kissed, and felt each others’ warmth.

They woke to gray morning,

clouds filling the sky, turning it silver.

At their parting, each sighed.

When he turned one way, and she the other,

all the things they whispered

buzzed like static

in their minds.

Black night cracks its whip at its end,

daylight purges the sky

of the trickery of stars, the morose shadow

blooming over clouds and over the moon,

a false, wilting rose.

Sounds take root and rise as dawn washes a mauve wave

over hilltops and baselines of trees.

 

Persistent footsteps at the base of my skull

vanish. Knockings from outside disappear.

Gone are the thieves,

who misted into my house, under my door.

Gone are their twisted knives,

caked with old, brown dried blood–

black clothes spattered with old business.

Gone is the trance

night puts me under. It suggests I’m not alone

in my own home. I’m blind so

I cannot disagree.

Gone are the tricks

I fall for each night.

I once believed there were monsters,

I now think there are thieves.

 

Under flashes of sun

we see what is real.

When night falls,

we cannot even trust what we feel.