do you mind? i’m still chasing you barely
catching up on empty sheets, gnarly
petals of your honesty, chasing
pistils of your sanity. why
do I need to understand you? your teeth
sit behind furrowed nails ambient and amplified
by years of hiding and plotting and scheming; cruise,
my fellow dormant trample through faults, they move and shift
like, “yes, we’ve seen walls,”
and candles whisper yonder. why do we
even move frail things as objects for poetry, are we
that kind, are we that brittle? why are you so
broken-hearted, why are you so blooming? why are you pink?
they say that the rush of blood causes
the rush of ink, but darling, why are you half-mourning,
why do you sink? why do you think?
i am fingers wrapped in careful holds, drooping like
eyelids making eyelashes meet. why do you drink
from this futile cup? I seem to rest my auricle musing, diving
into this breathing. i drowned
far too long ago; i am not breathing now, my dear,
why do you still kiss me, when I
have lips as black as night? my dear, why
do you still expect me to see you as pretty, now that i,
for too long, have lost my sight? be gentle.
as dark twilight holds its dreaming through mist, i am bold,
and i am weary. i am clashing
two worlds upon me, one where
your existence breaks through morning as the robin sings and one
as silent as the bearing brows of very Time. you
have not contemplated my everything. my stream,
holds on to nothingness; it lashes forth,
arching in every spade of
mettled tree mending. i am
too long a-rambling, you must forgive me, as before,
i have brought words, but never
shed tears, flowing like songs
sung by waterfalls alive.
— A. P.