stuff.

odd how our throats turn up & down.
& that heart bleeds words,
& words give heart,
but when lips shut & blood words go unsaid,
everything shuts.

how do i learn to let those words scab?
they're drying in my throat &
cracking my soul.
does it get easier to swallow words
once their dead & dust?
does it get easier to stuff heart
& deaf my sound track?

seems its the easy road. or the right one, at least.
why does it feel so coarse?
i'm choking on distaste for this iron-riched breath.
it's not the kind that can be brushed,
not without ripping scab & making those words ring.

silence is tearing my sleep.

the door revolve.

the spin gets dizzy & it makes my knees knock

i never noticed all the sameness & dots & criss-cross

must have been that out-of-sight-out-of-mind disease

where none of it sticks &

head hits same wall but no memory is made for it.

my cerebral swim in the haze feels better than the clear days.

at least in the gray I can lie & truth can tuck & we both can take cover

at least for a spell.the white & black & crisp catch up

but at least it’s delayed with the lightening & rain.

thankfully not all days are stormy.

funny how when you say the gray and it finds its edge your lines don’t disappear

how is it that your head builds brick of shadow?

none of its walls prove true as chains from the cloud lurk

not to say that the hole doesn’t gap and the fire doesn’t scar

but I’m not cast out and my world didn’t dust.

freedom doesn’t always shape to be light as i’d hoped

stepping in sun can weigh like those brain bricks

where the words with their edges still make for heavy

even with summer glaze & water blue & blooms praising sky.

maybe someday it’ll fill & bricks will banish & his fate won't crush mine.