consonantberry

They Settle Us

In Uncategorized on August 14, 2017 at 9:18 pm

Control sticks to carriers
And luggages through human terminals.
Those carriers are just removed from each of us, not inhuman
But distinctively between rather than a part of us.
They are not predictable, and since control rides on their coat tails…
They prevent anyone from owning their lives to the core.
We can only inhabit the skin and flesh as an inchworm might feed,
Eating its globular world of fruit.

We’re stuck like apples, waiting to rot
So our seeds can fall where they may.
May they take root, yet may they not
Take control from them, the
Gusts that occasionally sprinkle straight gravity sideways,
Nudging Newton’s down slightly off,
Settling appleseeds on fresh land to make home.

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The Undertures of Affection

In Poetry, Uncategorized on November 24, 2016 at 8:36 pm

We were strangers before we weren’t.
Weren’t you strangely familiar,
Weren’t you so closely removed
From everything I had ever experienced,
From everything I’d had with history

I have you with me currently.
You have me with you, yet
We haven’t totally dissolved the strangeness of it.

We’re a string of exposures
Taken from unexposed piles
To dry on a clothesline in a room
Lit by nothing but desperately needing sunlight
To dry our soakingly overt undertures
At each other by way of avoidance.

We fell upon filler to hole up awkwardly
Together. We are awkward, but
We so desperately need each other.

You make me so desperately happy.
In the exposures I hope that shows.
Through the negatives, through fear,
Through the moments that skip,
I”ll hold onto your picture.

A line in the Sand

In Poetry, Uncategorized on November 24, 2016 at 8:29 pm

At least I know that I’m dumb.
It’s a line in the sand,
Some see it and some don’t .
There are no smart people,
There are no ignorance-void gods.

Among us, uncertainty dumbs us all
Along fallible passages.
Our cobblestoned  aspirations and beliefs,
They walk us drunk towards passing out
On the hope that all ends well…. despite

Our sober mind’s hard fear of the imaginable terminations of each our own dreamed-up know-it-all kingdom.