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Home Dream-king Tempest Pilgrimage Stray Cosmic Jokes Anam Cara


death

abortion

i tickle my throat
because i want to throw you up
your dead body has begun to
decompose inside me
i want you out

abortion (2)

or would you prefer
to clasp the forceps to haul you out
from between my legs
i've been pushing so hard
my face has turned blue

relapse

there it is, the softest breath released from the most passing mention of your name,
caused a barely perceptible ripple in the still waters of my having loved you
      
for now, i can turn my back on it,  i will have enough time to be afraid
when the shadow of a tidal wave starts to loom and blot out
the glaring daytime i have forcefully created by ripping the night apart
i thought to force my dreams to burn and wither in the sun, to become mere ash
      
just this, the thought of you trickles silently down my throat
meanwhile my eyes are clawed out by the everyday til i can only see your absence
sometimes a great thirst overcomes me and i could barely speak and i don't know why
i still hunger for you sometimes and my hands would ache to stuff you in my mouth
      
i wonder, how long before you drown me again, fill my lungs with your heady scents
til i choke and gasp and throw up every potion i have swallowed in order to forget
i wonder how the cold shock of the your crashing waters will fare against this
slowly creeping fever that makes me see dreams even when i stare into the sun
      
a relapse is always worse, sometimes fatal, or so they say

aftertaste

the aftertaste
of your breaking my heart
hangs still on my tongue
and no one has yet
come forward
to offer to suck it out of me

peeling

i peel away
you

that cling
to me
like
mossy water

see me
raw
but free

i think...

locked

i have locked my love
into a realm of its own
it is neatly bundled into a dream
blessed into an eternal waking
he does not know it
but my love trails behind him
quiet, content
settled, somehow
it has prepared itself to delight
in the coolness of his shadow
to feed itself with traces of him
it will never clamor for more
it will simply live
and give of itself

now i can pursue
more mundane things
the questions that used to hum around my head
have been quieted
these questions re now watching the realm
gazing in quiet satisfaction
at the dreamed answers
the questions watch him
and they know that they will never dare
to present themselves before him
they will not mar my love
with expectations

now i can pursue more mundane things
i can dance with the world
it will not matter that i will often dance alone

resurrection

how can i erect my gravestone
there is no space
everything is filled by you
you crowd my thoughts
and make me forget this death

do not distract me
i need my sacred place to rest
safe from your irreverent intrusions
do not eavesdrop on my mumbled prayers
let my god answer them
i will not have you
dealing with him behind my back

(resurrect me)

empty

inside me there is
a globe of swirling emptiness
caught and suspended in mid-soul

i had poked at it many times
with the infinite pinpoints of light i often see in dreams
i have attempted to splay it open
with the sharp blinding edges of seeming
that mark the boundaries of dream-Stories

finally i flowed myself through its madly patterned walls
it is but an empty space
like some forgotten, abandoned house
quiet and lifeless

yet how strange,
even the dust smells faintly of you still

things that go bump in the night

my head on the floor
asleep in mid-trance

my candlestick broken
swiped by a dreaming hand

my door closing
at the wake of some offended spirit

my scrying mirror
fallen on its guilty face

my broken heart
and its last gasp of your name

easter

why linger
over my dead body
three days will not change
god’s mind
or yours

silent death

the heart makes no sound
when it falls and breaks
it is silent
like you
like the cold ground
on which it dies

how brave of you

how brave of you 

your presence splashed into my consciousness
like fake sunlight
without heat
there is a suspicious humming sound  (like broken spaceships trying to lift off)
like an undercurrent 
in your radiant presence
like vibrating, agitated sunspots dancing in distress

i am cold
obviously,
there is nothing you can do.

drained of dreams

i scrape the dry sand
and skin myself
drained of dreams.
only ghosts visit me now
and even they
do not stay for long
because the emptiness
swallows them.

read more of the dream-king collection...

desire
i
distress
ii
destruction
iii
death
iv
deliverance
v


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