(1) I live with living without you. (2) private notebook? well yes, but I hardly write anywhere else. (3) a void is void of what it cannot be filled with. (4) how do I live with (1). I always try ’ways’. yes, this is yet another notebook. (5) when they ask you can only answer. demands for yes or no are not asked. (6) sunrise, sunset. one rule that rules them all? (7) living without you. it is a demand, and unfortunately it was never my choice. what choice did you make, did you have a choice? I never understood. (8) another movement of the sun. another recording of it in a notebook. the void is open.
i know there will be fracture
when i speak forgiveness
breath will fog up
the icy pane
then
the spiderwebs
will crawl in
from the corners
.
i cannot help
the things that
shatter
when i speak
cannot live
a life
kept (quiet)
a life
inside
you keep recreating the problems you cannot solve by Tiger--eyes, literature
Literature
you keep recreating the problems you cannot solve
oh
if it were that simple
.
they say you’ll seek
familiar nightmares
until you can change
the ending
father seething
mother leaving
and closing
the door
behind her
and make them all anew again
pin your body
under him
and leave yourself
behind
lock your own door
.
so that’s where the
nightmare serpents spawn:
the mother wound
the place that leaves you
leaving you
that place you bring
to everything
you touch
and if only
it was as simple
as throwing rocks
and painting signs
and having that one someone
to crucify
.
but
you gave yourself away
you swallowed your own mouth
you lied
(you
i.
i speak it
i carve it into paper
and it boils
black and thick
inside
it makes me acrid
everywhere
it makes me small
and
how it burns
ii.
i drape my softest selves
in chainmail
cough this story
all across the landscape
weaving thorny canes
into braids
so i can climb
out of this well
because bleeding
is just bleeding
and i’ll do it
either way
iii.
i see you
in the mirror
my fire
becomes ash
and soot
it rains
and my mind floods
through unlocked
gates
and something
(hardened)
breaks
iv.
the last hours of the night
come back
to your self now, love
in the morning
there will be clouds to parse
horizons to map
railroad tracks
to take your
desperate wishes
somewhere
where
they might
be heard
tomorrow
you can pick some more
at knots
and scars
and try to file away
things always
changing shape
but for now
say the evening words:
be gentle with yourself
and do not hear them
from the place that
puts them on a
dusty shelf
with everything else
you never could do right
.
hear them
like a warm drink
hold them
in your chest
and let that
campfire grow