After All

 

Bonjour, mes amis.

Still here.
Kicked while I was down, (multiple times),
but still here.

i have meandered the full spectrum of grief:
i have been wild and angry,
despondent,
and have begged on my knees.

i have cried out,
stamped my foot,
shaken my fist at the Heavens.
i have rationalized,
withdrawn,
and turned myself inside out.

but i am still here.

Love Song

cacophony, zombie, sidestep, formed, migraine, French, too, nominal, dialect, swallowed, habitual, bonfire

whisper lovingly to me over the cacophony,

the primordial zombie soup of noise and colour.

we can sidestep the elephant

we've formed from our feces

but it still grows like a migraine...

there's only French in my head

mixed too with bits of glitter,

a nominal portion of oil paint and linseed

and i speak a dialect only you know.

we have swallowed each other

it's habitual, the nature of us,

to watch it all go up in the smoke of a bonfire

we started.

Lunar

It took a little out of her, that eclipse. She just wasn't really whole after it was over. Maybe the effort to produce that luminous orange glow would continue to eat away at her year after year, until one day she was just a part of the velvet expanse of the night.

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Added To My Verbal Bag Of Tricks

os·cu·late[os-kyuh-leyt] verb, -lat·ed, -lat·ing.

–verb (used without object)

1.

to come into close contact or union.

2.

Geometry . (of a curve) to touch another curve or anotherpart of the same curve so as to have the same tangent andcurvature at the point of contact.

–verb (used with object)

3.

to bring into close contact or union.

4.

Geometry . (of a curve) to touch (another curve or anotherpart of the same curve) in osculation.

5.

to kiss.

Origin: 
1650–60;  < L ōsculātus  (ptp. of ōsculārī  to kiss), equiv. to ōscul( um ) kiss, lit., little mouth ( see osculum) + -ātus -ate¹

Haikus For Otis

rhythm, fits, storm, breath, sea, touch, fog, rocks, swallowing, night, tide, searches

      UN.

the rhythm we make

in fits and starts, heroic

is my perfect storm

     DEUX.

time my breath with yours.

drown myself in your green sea,

reach out and save me.

    TROIS.

fog rolls slowly in

still we sit, two craggy rocks

swallowing the dark.

    QUATRE.

the Moon, wrapped in night

finds her image in the tide

she searches her face

Letter To An Unknown Gift-Giver

Dear Mr. Samlidis,
       I am writing concerning a very lovely pair of Anthropologie earrings. They were sent to me, as it would appear, by you. However, I have never been to New York; neither have I - based upon your Facebook photo - ever met you. Understandably, I find the motives behind the earrings dubious.
      If it was a mistake that they came to me, (as I presume), please let me know and I will return them forthwith. If, however, these earrings are connected in some way to an attack upon my identity, I must ask you to please desist. I assure you I haven't an identity worth stealing...

                                                   Yours,
                                                   L.Moore

Black Friday Special: Two For the Price Of One

let the dead carry their own

he said, and i trust

him. 

there is no lie behind his eyes

but i just cannot 

put this down.

i'd need a rubric

or someone with

shoulders stronger.

Removal.

Removal.

 just Beats in my brain.

Remember.

Remember,

even He wept.

 < --------------------------------------------------------------------------

the crush of youth

is heavy on me,

when i feel so old.

my skin is parchment.

my bones too brittle.

i have to dance slowly

these days

one wrong move

and 

SNAP!

gold dust   

 from the most

ancient of deserts

floating on the wind.

there is dirt in my blood, and 

words excised 

into my parchment skin

that are older

than language.

i cannot say  how my skin reads,

but

i learn myself 

from people i meet.