Mournday Morning








It is the mourning of our decay
And vision has not been there for me
As it has in the past
To smog my sight and blur blasphemy
And warp stained skies
Into floral figments of red.

Instead
Irises erode into a crystallized clear
Pure clarity I buried in the small of mind
Behind filaments of truth
That flicker fractal in one eye.

The gossamer’s glint I loathe
In this love kind of way
Gnawing on a qualm
While it purges away our clouded
Shrouded
Blooming off-white
And the silver lining that sharpens my jaw.

But if I open my mouth to purge our all,
I know that there will blow these wisps of whispers
Ever crisper
And sentimental to my throat
Yet when I choke
I will find the breath bereft of the reality we’ve come to be

Our history
Crusts as paper kisses and stillborn wishes
Upon my frown
Patchwork stitching for our brittle vow
That chips and flakes within my lungs and coats
My tongue with the embryos of pearls
I cannot hurl into the sea

And now this cerulean
Bestows its glow upon my sky
And in exchange, I
Must break this fragile, flimsy neck
To inspect the words I have stuck in my teeth
And remove He who inveigles my cheek
To wear his disdain as a stain
Of freckles
Withering hands can’t seem to rub away

For Gray Eyes herself
(with speckle of her own)
Keeps braiding the dismay down this spine of mine
Her gentle strokes against my hope
Exhort me to paint my quiver rouge
Because the color exudes
Unearthly beauty that was destined for me

And truth be told
I’d much rather sow
And water a seed of cinderblock stock
And reap a wall that keeps at bay
Or barricades the blue dawning on our day and yawning
Away our yearning to remain

Maybe then we’d be the same
Behind that double-pained glass of enigmas and stigmas
Undermining us with a cackle as it cracks
And mocking our lack of reflecting back
To the black of our minds
That only watched as time collapsed and died in our fickle laps

And perhaps
For this reason
This season grows bold and corrodes the old
That weighs heavy on my skin
To respire the desire
Groveling and groping at the hem of my rest
In the depths of my chest
Where he and I nest
Enshrouded by the cloudy dust and must
Of pulverized goodbyes and deteriorating eyes
Growing certain of our demise while in want of heart
Afraid of tomorrow’s start apart




Comments

  1. Firstly, I am SO glad to see a new poem up! when I got your email I headed straight here! We both know how hard it is to try and write something when your mind is being most uncooperative, so it's great to see you've broken through it with this brilliant piece!

    I love the subtle rhymes rippling throughout, but as with all of your pieces it's the word choice, the sentence structure and the IMAGERY which wins me over and fills my head with lots of whirring colours and thoughts.

    I love how you worded "But if I open my mouth to purge our all" - the "our all" is such a small part but completely shapes it and perfectly complements the "reality we’ve come to be". So many great lines, but these stole my thoughts, and I was almost clapping when I read and re-read them - "And in exchange, I
    Must break this fragile, flimsy neck
    To inspect the words I have stuck in my teeth" (I want them haha)!!

    There's also great technical plays - how the rhyme seems to get stronger and intensifies as the poem progresses and the alliteration picks up with it leading to a phonetic whirlwind. and what a close too: "And perhaps
    For this reason
    This season grows bold and corrodes the old
    That weighs heavy on my skin" ... ah you're back all right!! Loved it!

    ReplyDelete
  2. nice...vivid and intense...some brutal imagery...the breaking of the neck...Upon my frown
    Patchwork stitching for our brittle vow...great imagery...wicked flow as well...and depth of feeling...top notch stuff...

    ReplyDelete
  3. dang..tight imagery and emotions here..and a great rhythm and flow as well

    ReplyDelete
  4. The images cascade here; cutting, bruising, bleeding hurt along the way - this is more than star/crossed more like star/cut. It seems to fall out of a centered true place and reads effortlessly as though released in one breath. Heartbreaking.

    ReplyDelete
  5. It is such a glorious treat to revel in the mastery of your word play, and the subtle beat the repetition of sounds and internal rhymes lend to your writing.
    The opening line is stylish and filled my mind with so many possibilities. You lead the reader along the path of your surreal imagery, and keep us focused on the bigger picture.
    This stanza is a fine example of your skill:

    Our history
    Crusts as paper kisses and stillborn wishes
    Upon my frown
    Patchwork stitching for our brittle vow
    That chips and flakes within my lungs and coats
    My tongue with the embryos of pearls
    I cannot hurl into the sea...

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment