warlove

When love became a war
Our beds became a battleground
What landmines will I find
In the folds of your sheet
Tonight
Under cover of my endless
Lavender night
I turn my face away
From the pale moonlight
So my face can't betray
My intelligence
While we negotiate
Our treaties
Under cover of bad faith

We construct our contracts
In a language
Inspired not
By the Spirit
Of consolidation
But out of fear
Of being deserted
By our allies

When love became a war
There was no communication
Just espionage
There was strategic truth-telling
Strategic omissions of crucial
Information
Neglecting to tell
Each other what we know
Of our tactical formations
What general assumptions we
Had laid out based on the
Kernels of information
Our scouts had gathered
Under cover of a lavender night
Now the ghosts of our allies
Whisper the truths
We neglected to tell
Like the smell of lavender
Burning softly in the night

When love became a war
We rationed our affections
Treated love like
An exhaustible resource
When we really we
Were the only ones
Who were exhausted
When we took a sip
Of the love we knew
It did not taste
Like water in our mouths
It tasted like wondering
Where we could find
The next oasis
Wandering aimlessly
In the desert ruins
Of a civilization
That a spoke a language
That we used to know

When love became a war
There was no healing
There was just triage
Tying tourniquets
Around old and open wounds
No resolution
Just a sense of urgency
When we needed
Open heart surgery
To show us how
To beat inside
A rib cage softly
Our priority system
was red, yellow, green

Red:
Alleviate this urgency.
Please don't fail me

Yellow:
Take your time
Come back to me
When you have some to spare

Green:
I have to move on
There is nothing here
All patients can't be
Saved.

Microculture: Arrival

Finally home
My best friend
Picks me up from the terminal
And drops me off at home
I open the door
And I'm greeted by someone I love
Someone that I want to love
Someone that I am trying to love

He is looking at me
Through my mirror
And is eyes say
Welcome home.

Microculture: Bus Ride

Sitting on the bus
Watching people
Unpack their baggage
And unload their stories
Onto their seats
Into the ears
Of the people who listen
Or want to listen
Or are trying to listen.

Microculture: Bus Stop

I'm waiting for my bus
On a cloudy day in Atlanta
Raindrops ripple into puddles on the curb
Cars ride along the highway
Like abacus beads being pulled
Along their thread
Counting down the time
Before they return home
To someone they love
Or someone they want to love
Or someone they are trying to love.

The Sun Also Answers

In those small intimate hours

When night drips into day

I cloak myself in the cold death

Of a star

To tread in the light and shadow

Of an intimate truth

When the personal becomes

The becomes universal

We all must walk through

Our dark nights of the soul

I cling to this cliché

Like a lantern to brighten

The path ahead

I come upon

A pool of water

As still and calm

As an arcane mirror

The moon is reflected

Of its surface

It is as full

As a blood vessel

Threatening to break

To succumb to stress

And spill its light

Upon my frame

Its cratered face

Presses against my cheek

To whisper in my ear

Its breath smells like

The death and decay

Of every creature

That did not survive

The first impact

And it asks of me

What I am afraid to give:

First Impact

First Whisper

Look Within

Pale moonlight drapes itself across my knee

Please don't make me.

I don't think I'm ready yet.

Second Impact

Second Whisper

Look Within

Pale moonlight presses itself against my belly

Please stop.

I can't do this yet.

Third Impact

Third Whisper

Look Within

Pale moonlight pushes into my eyelids.

There are no words.

There are some things we share

by not talking about them.

In that final whisper

I feel the moon drowned out

By the rising sun

Ushering in a new day.

I thank him for what he's done.

He responds from atop his skyline throne

There is nothing to thank me for

I am only doing what I know to do.

And he continues his path

Along the bruised sky.

“I am only doing what I know to do”

I think I may have learned something.

I think I might have found my truth.