Frame

At the base of distance,
leaning into the membrane
an edge waits,
it preys on the hesitant,
to swallow their flames
the tongues
lapping up the air like wild dogs
in orange and blue light.
When I feel like giving up,
my reasons to breathe hide,
like deleted scenes,
forgotten memories,
and the broken plans
for far away days.


Weight

There’s more beneath the skin,
some unwanted secret
stretched transparent.
The only promises that come at the end
are laden mistakes.
I always wish
that I’d never given my word,
but nothing stays hidden
when it grows like a hangnail
to either run its course,
or be ripped out with your teeth.


The difference between speaking and talking

We deal in rare, unhealthy things
bringing actions into daylight,
these broken discourses that exist
only to be heard individually,
lips herding scripted words
gathering the ears of strangers
like children around a campfire.
Our tongues snap in opposition
to other people’s teeth
telling stories in a race
a way to be known only as the one who wins never the one yet to finish
these half grin conversations,
palates hiding pipe bombs,
fuses flossed between our teeth,
gazes grazing each other until nothing’s left,
only a redefined smile
sharpening its teeth against the wind.


Softer Voices

It all comes down to the voice,
that one moment
when the tones come clear,
whispering
the names we go by
and silently keeping
all those secrets
that we only tell ourselves
in our dreams at night.


Towards the end, he began dreaming of self-evident things,

peeling himself clean,

away from the finely sculpted renditions of perfection.

He began chasing the thing he wanted most,

the filth,

the dirt that can only be known,

found

beneath his own broken fingernails

and the filtered opportunities

still caught up in the things

he still had left to do.

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Ring

She only calls me
when no one else is home.
Releasing a sigh
with a request for company,
as if I were the lucky one,
someone who must be
waiting by the phone
for the gifted privilege of her voice
saying the words
she thinks
I’ve been waiting
so long to hear.


Scar

My skin has always been
my weakest organ.
It splits at the first sign of trouble
and leaves only lighter shaded reminders
that at some point
something happened here.