Unlocked.
stepping lightly
among germinated fields
brushing fingertips
along youthful exuberance
sipping dew drenched lips
through misty afternoons
blinking back webs
to return to the moment
tripping slowly
with unreal fascination
laughing silently
in blatant abandon
keeping the pitying smile in check
as she railed against all I was
battering me with insults
I knew exactly what she meant
even as she blamed everyone else
for her turmoil
she itemized my perfection
my ivory tower and knight
my unblemished countenance
while ignoring the blatant scars
I camouflaged tenderly
dismissing my tear tracks
blind to all I had that wasn’t real
she saw scenery
thinking it was the whole play
I think she must have nodded off
during the second act
falling asleep
grasping pages
soaked
god help her she can’t stop crying
no wonder the days flew yet dragged
floating by like swollen corpses
she hasn’t been herself
since she was twelve
what a fine job they did
they didn’t quite finish her off
with their grooming, quelling
along with doses of candy-coated filth
played with mercilessly
kicked aside when bored
what could a child do
when coaxed then vomited
in the most basic of ways
shriveling not in her nature
death a near choice
somehow too inept to assert or commit
she stuck around
no wonder the spinal was a relief
sagging finally allowed like boots being dragged down by water
she took pictures of herself
to see what they saw
since mirrors lied and reversed fortune
her body soft yet damaged
bearing regally ravages of time
calling in the most basic of ways
awake and pissed off
aching chest
clutching
god help her she can’t stop crying
picking up scraps of letters and shapes
crafting responses
to the cobalt moon
all-consuming flames
take the animal
turning inside out the skin and muscle
leaving wretched refuse
freezing on the sidewalk
children draw chalk circles
then skip merrily away
snowflakes dance over graves
long emptied of flesh
bones dance in winter winds
the moon hides behind icy hills
travelers still seek messages in stars
lovers write about comets and kisses
laborers only see their shabby boots
wolves circle
desolate lands and grey minds
leaping and taking languishing artists
snatching in their powerful jaws
anything resembling good cheer
hope has no place
in the den of winter wolves
she begged him to turn off the news
she couldn’t bear any more reality
pettiness and avarice
infiltrated every channel
he tolerated her instability
mostly by ignoring it
forcing them both
to paste smiles and carve pretty days
we may not be afraid anymore
of global thermonuclear war
or plagues
but there’s isolation
amid the information glut
far too many images
glitching our minds
voices from childhood
screaming for us to come back
not turning back
sounds trite
planning ahead
is silly
existing in the moment
feels right
if it’s not but a dream
The Word Rummager 