why is it that i hear screams in the night.
when i close my eyes, and it’s quiet.
flashbacks of you, having to be restrained.
you biting, biting. i’m bleeding.
memories of you strapped down, pumped full of ketamine.
close your eyes, close your eyes. i’m pleading.
the beach was littered with red that night
near the end of September
the sun was mourning the end of its reign
the fact that he’s so blazing here year-round
was little consolation
he gave himself a pity party
I just remained and enjoyed the constellations
I hope to see the blue deep
before I leave this world
have it be real
not a dream
have my ears echo from
all the calls of the sea
and
feel content when I taste
the foam like cream
been so long sometimes I forget the color of your hair
miss the way you meandered through our home
much like those ghosts with tambourines around
their ankles and faraway thoughts in the air
been so long sometimes I forget the way you cared
miss the vision of you with gold around your neck
much like those spirits with the sun at their backs
their warmth and faraway peace in their prayers
woke up and there was doom, so much
it was like I was drinking it from a cup
perhaps it’s because I dreamt of those black
ribbons that like to get tangled in my hair
that damned pretentious silk
I feel them now but I have to forage for
those twisted inky feminine cords
don’t you see them
you have to see them I swear
but
you insist they aren’t even there
and
I know I must give up my lost search
not question this pain on earth
long to walk without a step
breathe but not take a breath
just be and not let go yet
those red butterflies take me back to the time when
those annoying crickets lulled me to sleep
dreamt I was barefoot on the gravel
running to that abandoned church
where those lost souls would be baptized
stood up high to pretend to speak
but I knew I wasn’t worthy
running back to the little, green house
the gravel biting at my soles
I whimpered and looked back –
you ran and didn’t even feel the rocks
you came laughing back,
your feet untouched
top of the palm hunched like a spent witch
fallen over her broom, its thick green
hair barely tossed by the wind.
her brown limbs lacking oxygen,
left her tattered luggage stuck in the mud.
that abandonment makes me think of
all those stories of hate you wrote
thinking it would make me want to
turn the page, but I tossed your book into
the water. and it makes me wonder
how spoiled creatures can hold so much
ugly and suffering, yet leave it
displayed out for the offering.
makes me want to cut the witch down,
rid my sight of vile palms that
make me think of so much pain.
makes me wish I never followed you
down this beguiling path of eternal
sunshine and hidden rains.
makes me wish you knew me before this.
if an angel were with skin, this is the skin she’d be in
and it gladdens my heart that he was there
with his red plaid falling in love with you
when you were tired of running
you thought we’d be abandoned
but, look at us dear, we’re still standing
I admire your spirit, your laughter
your view on this entire situation gone mad
the way you send prayers to stop me feeling sad
so sad, which confirms my thinking
that if an angel were with skin
it’s your skin she’d be in
she was like a moodier jennifer lawrence,
so many freckles i couldn’t even tell her tone,
but i liked her face.
never saw her flip a smile but noticed
her gasping every once in a while,
and she never moved, even when that
fly landed right on her eye.
she was skilled at wearing her tattoo
as a watch. mastered walking in stilettos
near the water on the rocks.
she had cheekbones that would make your
ancestors drool green
and
she lit up the page with a gaze,
eyes cold and mean.
The Tape House 