there are no threads

 

i left the echo

in my heart

hidden but

apparent to all

 

i wept secretly

held some in

while others

watched

 

i knew i was lost

but no one else

did i forgot

that i was just

 

a man reviewed

by innocence

had left the verges

to the unknown

 

at night when

the others slept

i would move there

and sin again

 

feeling but god

deep to deep

listening to me

in the cold

 

the wall felt cool

as i pressed my cheek

against its edge

and prayed

and prayed

I listened

 

I listened and the air was colder now

Intent on its own process

If the spirit flees

Ye shall be free indeed

 

I was semi clad, naked in clothes

And i had never felt more skinless

Like happenstance to the lonely

Fate had renovated me

 

I cocked my head and listened

There was the sound of an uneasy static

Wordless and without melody

I thought of sleep

passage

 

i turned and the passage was narrower than i remembered

and its length deterred me, for it was longer than i could see

the end, as ends go it was not an end but the appearance of such

and i was aware of walking and nothing else except the clip of a man

against his will walking into an unknown, and it was indefinite and i

remembered that the words i had just spoken were spokes that remain

and still the clipping tones of an echoing and a manic spirit that swarmed

and stunned and walked alongside, plaguing us with mimicking and with

the anthems of mime, surrounding the walking and the walker

with words and themes and dots and trills and then words again

on this was level plateau and the moon did not intersect here

instead lost to its darkness the moon lamented the tottering pace

until the end could not be seen for a second time, instead the waking,

moving, stumbling past becoming the trying, coasting, leading surprise

that surrounded the onward christian lament, foraging forward in sullen

steps that solicit just the other step of the same man in the same passage

 

 

the knife

 

before he understood the knife

became a keepsake in the dark

brandished like a holy cross

it was as if flesh and blood

became flood and tempest

and the eyes would not

they could not stem the guilt

its pour upon him like a mantle

stubborn and fraught with the dark

we do not see until we see

he thought and could not look

and silently he pleaded

for an end to his own morality

to end like this is to die a fool

he longed to turn the light on

to supersede today by godly decree

to anticipate and to follow through

and so he began to pray again

confluence

 

i fell into the warmth

under like a lullaby

head sinking

under into blueness

beneath i sank

until i was lost

was under no longer

for under was now this

held my breath, under

it was held for me

it reminded me

of plath underwater

wanting a baptism

i wandered under

if the waters

would seep into me

warm and full descend

to my demons

underneath

and exorcise them

i longed for that

prayed and fell deep asunder

gasping for breath

was it worth a death

under stood

 

 

 

 

rain

 

i listless to the rain

and fell there down

and in the all quiet

naked and soothed

a man remembered

a cool wing and aftertaste

a renegade space

a flight, then plummeting

a cataract

after love is this

after this is love

 

in a movement

in a movement

is a gradation

the slipping shade

of a day interloping

reading an angle

from yet another

angle, detaching sides

from other desires

until sides become ribs

and these wings and

these metaphysical wombs

and sudden is rapture

more than application

it is the eve, the oeuvre

a manoeuvre of kindred

from light to darker

in a movement

here solace is captured

and god is silenced

for this is god