Long Division: Strains Of One

Dainty figurines, collide-expand

Upon the altar, knotted-stained

For which they stand; warped and dated

Like the mores buried, still, straining to inhale

Knee-deep down, beside, within—

The Laundering of time pronounced, for without

Borrowed—procured ceramic, forgone—

As it is with the stuttering of art, from in,

Unknown qualities emerge, myths and absolutions

Laying bare before the mantles, and within

All illumine beneath each face it makes appear.

  “      Strength bemoans the martyr, as the power of fear, is concealed within each face before you here—those of strangers and Judases alike—whose stones are visibly clear, not in hand but in the discoloration within each their eyes”

8 Stages of Regret

I.  Cabinetry

An immobilizing strength plumbed within

Temples left, scarred and alone

Preservation devised a means to push, an

Imbalanced shelter for a defenseless front

Partitioned walls once deemed out of place

Have since become the only blueprints ever drawn

Interred within these assimilated cells, cage doors

Conceal the lost-not-found

And it’s only through the sheer chance of occasion; the hinges may swell and sing their voiceless tilts, shedding skin through the suffocated creaks entombed

II. Thesauri

So violent in the vagueness

In which consent first came undone

So vague in the violence

In which definitions first formed to tongue

The stillness of the songs etch, impressed upon

a hollowed heart—procuring a beauty—persisting

through the unconscious’ paining path of plight

Contusions stir to surface, clogging lines of flow,

Where curiosity catches a fevered glimpse and forever forward is impelled to know, what lies buried, beneath the indulgent purity of snow

III. Breaketh The Dam

Your voice says one thing

     But the eyes dictate contrasting truths

Your words are crafted toward recovery

     Yet innuendo simply spells out an angst swelled deep

Your tone quivers in subservience, yet impotence is a flurry never shown

                       Your outlines cast impressive angles, only to

Eclipse each thought betrayed inside

                                                           Your reassurances are calculated in their candor, yet errors appear as one’s amassing loss

                                    And if such loss rests sightless to the day, the night shall forever forage upon the schematics of those repressions cloistered deep

                           And eventually the levees shall break inside, flooding forth all things unknowing, elucidating every painful stamp left unsorted yet stacked in place

IV. Frozen Posture

Tension bristles the embryonic morn, prickling the cote with metallic shards of veil in scorn, collapsible dignity unfeigns before you here, chastising all memories as broken periods of circumstance—as having been built be demonic scribes and bards fictitiously flirting with the pangs within, damage, repeal, stain and scar

Curtailing truncation’s brutal lop,

A memory, fragmenting forth,

Beckoning penance for sins that

Devoured innocence

You seek forgiveness, yet the soul is untainted, never sullied was this will you own,

                  But fault lines need reparations, cracks random once, breed lengths aligned intent to swallow whole

                                                                        And you cannot forget what was never known,

 Remaining focused, solely upon the broken scabs, remnants that both betrayed and glued, joining together flesh and soul,

         Understanding there’s more here than even you could have known…

V.  What If

What if’s begin to flourish….and wonder you shall, persisting quizzically in such preponderances, refreshing, what image would appear anew

 The shine of the mirror’s gaze reminds what once was and how but that person now, is known, to have been but an effigy, a cursed twin, some Angel once took pity in

VI. Denial in a Time of Advancing Schema

It truly is remarkable, how far you’ve come since misfortune’s kiss shown through the prism’s glass

                                                      You forge forward without delay, yet one must wonder when the stalling shall impede, this admirable advance through such tumults and misplaced apostrophe

                                                                                          You admonish those with good intents, to cease their pity, for its not their love you’re searching for

                                    You chastise the resolute, for not even you yourself entirely remember every nuance of the painful truth

                                                                                            Your resolution is astounding, and yet such pride may be, just the food from which stagnation feeds

                                    There shall come a point where address this all you must, for if not now then when

                                                      You claim all is well, yet ignore we can’t as ire’s rise their flames at those that care; where arrhythmia distorts truth’s gait, emanating unrest in each the shattered pieces that remain left as whole

VII. Betrayals, Buried in the Garden of Time

There are so many things that can and will be said. There are secrets buried that never shall be revealed.  A pain like this is one that will gnaw and feast.  It is not something that can be tossed aside. Pretending that only by paying credence will you draw out it’s worst offense, is nothing but regrettable to the watchful eye.  And still, one can hardly blame one to become engulfed in such a betraying return to one’s true self…in fact, I can think of nothing else…the one you thought you knew is no longer living, instead they are replaced by some vulnerable wretch plagued by the remembered pasts ruins realigned.

And I, the one who has loved you all along, feel I have played my part in this betraying song.  Out of love I allowed the education of others to sway my inactions.  I left you as they remade you from your very ashes; I let you grow as some alternate version of who you are, yet, I did this out of love alone. 

But if I would’ve known that wall would break and that dam would crack, I’d have eased you along, slowly matriculating you back into a world that no longer is the safest place.

Yet it should be known, you are not the only one to suffer.  Certainly our pain is not comparable to what you must feel, but nonetheless it is so very much real.

I, for one, and I will only speak of the pain I known now.  I will not discuss the hurt that lived when you remained in that state of ignorance, no, I will not detail that time, for it is gone, it’s forever gone away. 

The here and now, is far worse than ever could I have imagined it to be.  For, when you arose from your slumber, you could not, and have trouble still, looking at me as you’ve always done.  There is, you claim, a resemblance between your villain and the image I portray.  I’ve changed my size, shape, hair and face, but somehow, that betrayer you see in me.

VIII. A Coda, A code

And what, you, follower of this regrettable tale, may ask, what happened to this villainous man, the one responsible for disrupting this woman’s peace and calm?

                                    This, is something I dared not dwell upon, but the question is begged, and therefore, I must appease…I feel guilty

For I knew she must face her attacker, they say it’s a step toward resolving that within…but

                                    I heard he was leaving. Only I knew it was he that committed such actions…For, if I never dallied as I had, I would’ve been where you’d expected me that day, and if I had been, none of this damage would’ve happened as it has.   Many have claimed that if I were a mere moment later than I was, she wouldn’t have survived. 

They mean well, yet I, as you do now, know better.  But I did espy, this demon.  I saw exactly who he was.  At first I knew not his name, but it was not difficult to uncover.  This, was all information I withheld, a secret only I held close.

So, such a day was forced upon me.  A decision had to be made.  It was a decision that could’ve gone in several ways.  I could have reported this man to the police, but he would have been released, this, I shall not delve further into, but this, I do know.  I could’ve tracked his future, keeping tabs for such a day as is now, where she could confront him for his crimes, and offer whatever justice she deemed fine.  But I could not bear watching him escape.  I couldn’t sleep knowing what luxuries his wealth could provide him elsewhere, while the one I loved is but a shell, a clone of who she once was.  This was not justice, no, not just at all. 

So I chose the path that such situations often come down to.  I cornered him and he knew.  He offered me the world, if close my eyes I would, allowing him to leave, to go away for good.  But this was much too kind.  And I did what I felt I had to do.  But to detail what took place those 72 hours, would be too graphic and cruel.  And so, I alone took away my love’s chance at confrontation…and this, while the revenge was sweet, it was not the feeling I felt it should’ve been, and now I cringe telling you about how I have behaved.

Now, it is I, and I alone, who seeks and prays, for an irrational sense of forgiveness to somehow cease the beat of such a painful malady.  But in truth, it is only you, I wish to see me as once you had.

Life in a Turkish Prison

Bow scratches turn of phrase

etchings in the sounds that bare

forgiveness in a misguided mar

Hollow point, shells of heart

delineated barracks in a song

less known than the emotions it follows

Ravenous, maestros of delectability

evening scars protrude, as seams often encounter

an atlas unseen, where if one would’ve

gleamed, the circled sect would indicate the x inside

Swish about the sunken sediment

refurbishing its place in the swirls

in a game, of cat and mouse, moments

before the tilt back ends the misery from which

its momma swells/in the language she’s feigned ignorance for

A Turkish prison is not known as your epitome of grace

Life in the bowels of deceit can easily mistake a smile

From what is nothing but a variation of the frown

Beyond the Closing Bell

Apostrophes of enemies
Infectious grins
Slanting beyond the reaching arc
Capsuled freedom stops then stalls
Fragile auras shatter through
The very fragrance surrounding you

Whistling Foucault from the stands
As ticker taped illusions spawn
Into demonic repossessions of scars reborn

Awakened by the tingling prick
Jolting shackles tying down
All the prophecies now forlorn

Account for each
Bear repeat
Lest forget the slope that's slid
Under rug hidden from
hearts of trust vacant cold
If/when your lips must wriggle form
Pronouncing without a stuttering tongue
instructions of how can't lose hadn't won

Broken promises stream the night
Voices crackle as the moon leaks lime
Focal points are deterred too
Locks severed years before
resurfacing here and now
when arms outstretch meet a wall

And the interest surmounts
And the sense betrays
And the hours wilt
As the chambers change
Clicking
As
Tears
Drape
The stains of oil
That still remain
From the classic
you sold to start it all

If only the pressure would have allotted the gauge to smooth
The realization would have come
Dictating the options of
How, together
Any hill can be overcome
When love is the force fueling life itself

Contract Killer

She took the hilt

Between the teeth

Twisting round

Pushing leather deep

Unsheathed, raw steel shines alive

At the casualty of sound to come

Syncopations rhythm grows

Primal surge, crescendo

Under the mask of day

Collides the guise of night

Under the cutest grin

A smile’s born in sin

Constriction tightens its clutch

That’s when her eyes rolled to touch

Squirming from anguished horizon

Into a chalice of trust

Flora ignites the pleasured scent

As the poppy’s milk skews sense numb

From a frenzied savagery

Ascension crests,

A transformation through thrashing

Sinews debased: Corporeal, feral,

As spindrifts snuff

In unison

Yet…

Rise she does

In deepest gleam,

Forcing rancor to the forefront of gaze

Pausing…

She took the hilt

Between her fists

With violence descending quick

And soon the sternum breaks

Unsheathed, raw steel’s a dull grey

As a casualty of lust, trust’s betrayed

Gasping; flailing incoherent

She places finger upon lip

Whispers the darkness comes quick

Forever stained with the wash of her

Never to bathe again

…And she redresses

Knowing the soul’s lingering

Eyes watch as she pens

Three words into still smooth flesh

DO NOT RESUSCITATE

Near a freshly painted paneling

There’s a window that leads out

Through the paper-thin screen

A reddened daybreak can be seen

Illuminating what remains of last night

 I don't know where this one came from, but thought it an interesting idea and decided to roll with it, of course blurring the lines a bit.

Useful Things

Hunched,

Atop curbside discard

Sifting tops of steel,

Brown hands,

Weathered/worn-

In search of useful things

Disavowed

Avenues of lust-

Simple now, so simple it became

Once the hindrance of vanity

Emptied out its shame

Disavowed

Boulevards of luck-

Its so easy now, how easy it became

Once the hindsight resets

Pictures fall from broken frames

If only it was known back then

Perhaps possibility wouldn’t have hoodwinked sense,

Who knew?

That trusting those elected few

Would set you up to fail

The way society did for you

Who knew?

Shuffling

Back and forth,

You pace I see, in similar ways as me

Is it the cold, or unknowing that you fear the most?

Your pride lets you smile

As your bearded mouth smiles crooked

One corner to the grime

Then other to the sky

I asked if you wish it all back

 To the stars you tilt neck in haste

Pausing in the marinade you taste upon your tongue

“ And be removed from all of this,” in a tone I wish I didn’t know, “Hell no I’d rather die”

In ragged dress

All possessions carried with

Yet but one’s all you seem to care for

A locket’s caress-

From clavicle to chest,

Dangling but shining still

Those faces you once kissed,

Tucked asleep in bend, told stories

That made everything wrong,

Seem special still

But that was back

When you lived

And were one

Of the useful things 

Brian got me thinking about doing right by others.  He put together a wonderful write about the sex trade and was hosting Poetry Jam this week, with Awareness Poetry as the theme.  Well this type of thing is something I strongly believe in.  Well anyhow, It was one of those things, when you want to write something, with a particular idea in mind, but nothing comes from it.  Other ideas certainly surface, but the one you want to arise, just wasn't happening.  So, as is normally the case, forget it and it shall quit playing the hide-and-seek game.  As was the case here.  So I thought it appropriate to use as my submission for The D'Verse Open Link Night. Cheers!!