pure

that word again.
the one that's haunted me since
little hands barren of any
horrid
when they were soft
and potential steeped.

that word boxed how to wonder
and told face how to be mirrored
and settled clothes on frame
and kept laces tied.
it was my map & bible & sun.

but then those soft hands met
seared
and that brain met tree-snake
and that face heard evil
and the clothes became misshaped
and laces began trip.

that's when the dark took hold
& brain became enemy, blooming with hate lures
& face shamed mirror for fear of storm
& clothes didn't hide what i'd hoped
& knees stayed locked to ground...
it seemed safer to drown than plunge surface.

but then he said it.
"pure"
& i think he was looking at me.
& he might have meant it.

dust.

it's the slack lies.
that i am not any
one.
and i'm not.

it's the rabbit hole that takes me
the one that taught me to
swallow
all the sludge they burned me with
or at least what i thought they scorned
when my stumbles got stuck in lamp light.

my black seems worse on the pavement.

odd how the snares linger and
make for more black.

how the black made for the creation of
shadow
& self i never meant.
but the bless is that shadows
are less than dust.

maybe the shadow dust can be taken
& my marbled me return.

only.

i'm not sure i'd missed it, but looking into chest, i noticed.
my hearts' ears are under water.
i wondered vaguely when they took the plunge.
i didn't hear their breath buried somehow.

they choose when to hear, and these days aren't them.
if only they'd have less auditory charge.
it would make my head clear,
and we'd all accept it.
the close & the tear.
it'd be fire proof & hard,
not just bubbles that we don't understand.

sea water let's us believe what we dream.

but those bubbles aren't filled for a reason.
the sounds they make are inked & final.
even upon deaf ears, true is true.

i wish those bubbles didn't make my deaf heart break.
if only.

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.