Idoles Brisées/ The Truth Between Is the Same

i find your lack of remorse

frankly, appalling

your narcissism holds up the mirror

for me to see myself 

more clearly

your crocodile tears

glisten sweetly

like the gleam in your eye

i would run from you

but i know you'd give chase

brutal, wrenching chase 

you are the black cat i fought with

the stifling heat from the fire

the weariness in my bones

the wariness in my heart

you are the keen and needy distance

i put between myself

and everyone else

you are the need to hurt

and break

you are the plush extra

and the sharp lack

you are unnecessary to me now
(maybe you always were)

i can cut you out

and burn you down

but you will not be erased

no, never erased

and so you will too 

become the void

better the void

than the presence

for the ghosts you banish into a void

can never return from it to haunt you

Baptême par le feu

the home i was born in

has burned to the ground

a smoldering rubble,

the very foundation

is unfamiliar

the last tendrils of smoke

curl upward even now

past my face

a sweet incense

unto Heaven

years from now

the vines will creep toward

what is left

to cover it over

Nature's burial

to my children

it will look ancient and beautiful

the remains of a chimney

blackened

the battle with twisting ivy

so poignantly lost

no stone

left upon stone

all erased

excepting the memory

which lies in glittering shards

among the rubble

blending with the broken china

and yes, if they ask, then yes.
it was arson

it was either the memory or me

it was them or me

her, or me.

for once,

but maybe never again

i chose Me.

and so i am the daughter

of my own mind

the phoenix

rising

I Would Rather Be Out of Doors

watch the day break

determine now to fill it up

make it spill over

into the night,

the Moon's turn

i dont want there to be

any waste

i just want to go

from branch to branch

with purpose

meaning

i want to feel

every crystalline drop

cool and bracing

leaving

no chirp  unnoticed

no leap unappreaciated

no breeze unenjoyed

i remember spinning
arms out
swirling the world around me
falling to the ground
 it was prayer
though i didnt know it

lying down in the grass

warmth of earth at back

chill of spring on neck

baptism

letting it wash over

the dirt an annointing

under the nails

faire la connaissance

extend the offer

to get to know you better.

i might take you up

Strangers

you cant know me well

 for i am more than you see

you look with closed eyes

Ma famille: Deus pascit Corvos.

                                                        Corbeau.

Old French for "Little Crow," 

- - meaning "raven-haired" or dark-haired

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'


e.a.poe.

i am not

enough today

 


but maybe

i'll make better mistakes

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