I begin this journey through hell,
clench my jaw, gnaw on the intangible.
Lucid fires lick my lips
burn the words from my mouth
and I, I must reconstitute them
from my ashen tongue, with blood
and wishful thinking.
I scribe them then in scrawled lines
from the jagged tips of my
battered teeth - forged, as steel,
with desolate flame and
frigid liquid realization.
It is my daily death and resurrection,
immortalized in ink, indelible,
unforgotten in the scars upon my palms.
Concentrically jagged are your thoughts,
like forgotten strands of forgotten webs where
flies die, and for no reason -
in your dearth.
You are beautiful and broken,
and the beautiful are found
in corners crumpled
Mona Lisa Dances
The rain promises to fall,
to wash away her nudity
and clothe her in his fog -
but she has danced naked
outside my window
for weeks. Guileless
and unashamed, she revels
in this slippery rise
of mercury in mid January.
Her only privacy is found
(unsought) in twisted shadows
cast by her own limbs,
held proud and gnarled
She is Mona Lisa,
stripped of matronly garb
and inhibitions. Her head
is not bowed by the weight
of expectation, nor does she dwell
on her wealth of imperfections.
I envy her freedom, her inspiration,
and thank her for again being mine.