Entangled

Seldom do I hear
the whisperings of
the earth beneath me.
Seldom do I trust
the music that
resonates beneath
my skin. I question
the song as it breaks
into a thousand tiny pieces.

Succulent language
tumbles out in neat
phrases. Seldom
do I need convincing
of its own self-importance.

Wires tangles and notions
tremble in the dense night.
Too quick to capture….
too easily forgotten…reticent
to sit and lean quietly
against the night.

Fondling the common themes
that sway in the dead of night
when quiet lays open
with her legs parted wide.
Cheeks bloom red
with shame….as the Catholic
guilt burns knuckles with rulers.

Gather moss in your arms
please…show me your gentle ways
Gather moss in your mouth
so you can quiet the incessant chatter.

Pour a shot for the ancestors…
they are dying of thirst.
Pour a shot for yourself…
your troubles are barely contained.
We hold on too tight to our demons.

Fuck sake, kill the beast
the way you kill the lights.
Don’t ask for forgiveness
lest you can accept it.
This is not a psychological
exorcism drowning
in holy water being prayed
over by a righteous priest.
Casting demons…
casting dispersions…
casting for compliments.

We have lost the ability
to understand each other’s
quiet ruminations.