Departures.I tell the quiet to sink into my bonesDepartures.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way the music melts into my marrow
so the harmonics and the perfect fourths
may rest dormant in my veins.
The birdsongs in my lungs are
enamored of my breast; they
wait for late departures in the
train station of my heart.
Unfinished melodies and sonatas--
merely hiccups of my mind--
lie whispering in the paper-thin
walls between my ears.
Cold catches hold of me, my skin
to winter's skin as the last of the
swan songs nestles into the
darkness of my ribcage.
I tell the quiet to sink into my bones,
enamored of my breast; it
lies whispering in the paper-thin
darkness of my ribcage
Approaches and DeparturesHear toxic-nebulae read it here.Approaches and Departures4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
When the roads took to themselves
my breath arrived from Appalachia
to Sonora before North American
westerlies and wanderlust cradle-
carried my exhalations eastward.
The southern Baptist rural sprawl,
contagious to Canadian and Pacific
railways, had approached from crosses
confiscated several centuries earlier.
Fiberglass steeples routinely fed
a broadcast of fiber optimal sermons
depart from me;
the distinction between an arrival
and an approach is who leaves who.