VERBALLISTICS:

In what place do you rest your head? - m4w


favorite this post In what place do you rest your head? - m4w (where I long to be) hide this posting

zodiac: ♓ pisces




In what city do you tonight rest

with vacant walls? vacant hearts? or is it just the cold of Winter

I know, I know, It isn't the last farewell

but how heavy my heart at the moment of parting



how will I find you, or you me?

even if I know for certain you will return

a sad wind shifts in the direction of your departure



Time passes slowly behind these lonely eyes

the rain patters delicately on the roof

not so the tears that fall to the floor

A calendar page drops and waits, hesitantly

a road reaches as far as the ocean and the distant hill



I could call your name a thousand times, there'll be nothing

but the sound of leaves falling to the streets

even if I knew you thought of me

my heart could not stop longing

post id: 6083461166

 

If you would only look....closer - m4w


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My love,

From here I see the waving green grass of the sea,

O, to meet you here at the edge of my life,

and over there, you

silent

shrouded in mist

holding my heart

post id: 6082464139

 

balance


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balance
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I just want to sleep

close my eyes

relax with abandon

then wake up in the sweat

of the dreams

from the embrace of

your arms swinging across

my shoulder and pulling

me close and

taking the only leverage I had

post id: 6077473202


the help

Never invited
to the party; I clean up
after the others.

libations

Wine for a mellow night
tequila for a melee
whiskey for a melody
and bourbon for a story

Coffee for morning sunlight
and tea for nighttime coughs
fresh juices to lend countenance
and kvass to flush the dross

Floats for a whimsical moment
and cider for cravings of warmth
champagne for news and good tidings
your mouth for a nightful of mirth.

Nimrud colossal

Notice, first
his stone face is frozen
into good-natured features.
Carved to guard
one royal heart
and the afterlife's spoils.

Now, they say
you can't take it with you
But they believed otherwise,
and I'm envying
the ease of their demise,
one million days, hence.

Thinking
burial in a pile of belongings
far better than renting
another storage unit.

I'm feeling quite sorry
for myself,
lamenting the plight
of the modern-day Bedouin.
Ignoring
the fact that this
lamassu was hewn
BY HAND...

From fucking granite,
no less.

Carved
into detailed perfection
and lasted an aeon
just to be ogled
by overgrown teenagers
boggled by their own
topography.

Some days,
I think I've got it rough.
Some days,
its hard to remember
artistry is all that's needed
to turn plain stone
to masterpiece.

Instead,
I'm shouldering the boulder
of a gray perspective
my own carved burden;
my own stony features.

Still,
I'd like to think
we
are both fierce
and benevolent
creatures.


London

You are just one more tittering fool
with a manicured garden
masking a slack mouth with polite palm -
pushing fifty-pence words
into tired conference
dodging the sky, in favor of fair weather.

Everyone here spends their nine to five
pounding time into cartoon pictures of the Queen,
quoting Churchill loudly
while they hush his British Gulag -
it's no wonder Darwin's heart
just couldn't take the strain.

The constant drain of gray clouds
paints a grim portrait of marble faces
mossed into composure -
a Dorian Gray of stock brick rows,
soldiered toe to toe
in unmappable streets,

Shuffling feet bearing hearts
bound in tropes
and I'm amazed at the juxtaposition
of castle and cobblestone,
tomb to tome of thought

everything lost, here
and everything found.


recovery

You know,
it's almost relief
to find you
were drunk all that time
to learn you've unremembered
our getting-to-know-you conversations
all that laughter wandering
into the wee hours
which made me
fall in love with you

Almost feels lucky -
because there's no place
in your world
for so much unfeined awkward,
for all this
unrestrained vulnerability
for sweet, sincere veins
or sober muscles
which only beat
open
open
open
open



Apprehension

my skin wants to shuck it's jigsaw binds
but it's not time, yet
So, what do I do
with all this wanton wakefulness?
This early morning slumber
disturbed into recognition of the day -
and it's too late - too late
for everything I ever told myself I wanted
still, too early for the bullet

but life's excruciating noose
grows slowly tighter. My mind
one smoke-filled exit door
between disaster and infinity
and I can't help imagining hell
might be the ER waiting room on Christmas eve -
all bloodied knuckles and broken things
and laborious breath

So, when you think of suffering, friend
imagine my delicate heart
sitting in the middle of this -
circled by heavy bones and moaning nerves
Imagine it ticking down the years,
one millisecond at a time.

Call it what you will -
faltering. Frail.
Call my dreams nonsense, as if poems
could be puzzled together from anything
but bloody vertebrae and whimsical vowel sounds.
While I lean, painful spine to hardback plastic
all nerves firing on diffidence -
and, tell me again
how weak I am.


potential

We all know
love
is gravitational
and I
lost all my pull
when I
began
to
fall