Our human shores

Every day this face
              limps          toward collapse

              —bows
                             to the apocrypha

                             dancing like fire.

              Deepens its furrow—

                             when all the trees droop

                             and bend their weight overhead,

                                            we will say we were meant
              for leaving—            that we even could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our human shores

My teeth began hurting.
Began growing into each crevice
they craved. In this maw—
I mouth only that which sustains me.
Omit genuine inflections
that taper off into multiple kinds
of outward silence.
I’m afraid
I’m rotting from within.

Ask of yourself are you
prepared
to flail
the body flayed
itinerant.
We begin to breach
the whole heart beat
bleating.
Strophed. Beached.

In the morning
I gnash.

In the morning
I streak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our human shores

Love is a precise mantra
a musical incision
ignored willfully like a coda
about to turn
into a new beginning
an acknowledgement
skillfully mulled
enough to name that which we shun
mutely but not enough to pirouette
a sinful art—we are
struggling in the corners
we pull ourselves apart
to break nature
and feel life thump open
like an aria
of gulls circling
a crescendo of waves
going silent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our human shores

god in the emptiness

the inhuman

pang of nothing true

a tallow hope

too far from the fire

we believe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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