The Silver Cage Holding My Heart

Of sick,
Sickly sleep,
Stunned,
And remissions,
Back and forth,
And back on all fours,
This escaping hairy, hoary heart,
Wrapped,
And held tight,
Sticky,
Bloated bandages,
And matted fur,
Snuck back into the house,
Let loose,
With my own hands,
To murder continuity,
And contaminate time,
Pillow cases keep record,
And sexual innuendos pin suicides to wandering beds,
Bait the silver cage with fresh meat,
And trap it drunk,
In hand,
With wooden stake and mallet,
Latch and force the door,
Close this cycle for yet another thousand years.

The Doubt of My Debris

Debris and subsonics,
Rot, fungi and dreg,
Dirges, doubts and decayings,
Needs knelt far down,
Below,
By the bank,
Of the river bed,
Left strung to a tree branch,
Slit,
And slowly,
Spill,
From head to toe,
Returning back down,
And giving back,
To the water and to the ground,
Give me back the dirt and sticks,
Give me back the mud and stones,
Give me back the songs of the birds in the sky.

The Soft Star

Soft star,
Strung,
Through,
Strings,
Out,
Bombarded,
Light years,
Shower,
Red flowers ember,
Cinders covering,
Mountain sides on fire.

Be Still

Sip,
Still,
Bowl lip,
Mouth,
Drips,
Siping,
Swallows,
Stay here,
Stop time,
And be still.