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ResolutionIf I were writing from the other side,
I would say
This road was not on my map.
No one goes there
on purpose.
And then tell you how
I escaped.

I asked for help, for change,
and grief was the answer:
Grief as old and hollow as snowfall,
grief as heavy
as snowfall,

grief that said, "You,
You are the spent ember,
You are the last angry voice
and when you pass
the dark
will have been waiting."

The grief was right. I burn,
I burn cold and heavy,
crouching in the ashes of greatness,
I burn,
and the fuel is low.

The dark is waiting.

But what angel comes
with words of despair? Even Job
had no angels to tell him, "Alas."

Last Years StormI.
I can smell the bitter smell of his love
The musk from his cologne and from me
painted into all of his body's crevices.
But His scent stays, still fresh in the sheets
Like my memory of last year's storm.

I.
I can hear the whispers in his kiss...
They whisper nothing.
But they're sweet like the tip of his tongue
And like the sound of rain falling,
Like last year's storm

I.
I see the perfection of his body.
The way it curves imperfectly,
Like no one elses, it's just mine and his
Unique, like every raindrop
From last year's storm.
Love Ridden
Rosemary for remembrance.
Remember me. Remember me.
Touch my cheek in mid heat of Santa Anas,
and let words whisper.
O\'er violent window sill
you waited for me;
Poison ivy -- white oleander.

Sparkle, shimmering, shine candles.
Blow it out. Blow it out.
Focus on letters and blue flame,
alphabet backwards and a
Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday.
To you.

I\'ll crawl with you into bed.
Just lay with me a while.
And you\'ll call me by my simple name.
Never again.

Love Ridden.
Life through the Looking GlassCold when I run myu fingertips down,
Smudged, marred with my prints.
Staring at a relfection,
Wondering what is on the other side-
Is everything just reflected or hidden-
I\'m searching through glass.

It\'s like Alice,
Staring through her looking glass.
Surprised to see her distortion-
It\'d be frightening,
If I didn\'t reconize my own nightmare,
Through the Looking Glass.

Your mouth is open,
Are you screaming on your insides?
I know I am, but you\'ll never know.
Laugh now before the glass fogs.
And then your pretty pretty image-
Shatters off the wall.

It\'s like Alice,
Staring through her looking glass.
Surprised to see h
Ovid Amores 1-5Ovid Amores 1.5, free translation

  It was sultry   out.  Afternoon.
And I laid lightly in my bed,  lightly
  the shadows from my half-open window
played on the floor   like   light-through-leaves.
       Mock twilight.

Perfect light for a shy girl
       to cast off her   shyness   along
with whatever-else-may-be  cast off.

And so Corinna came, loose in her dress,
    loose in her hair,
       beautiful
                      and
                             bedroom-ready.

Why hesitate?

Off with her clothes and
       rarely a struggle
    a pretense     she
       gave-herself-away.

And what a thing to give!
Pe
Cadencetandem seeker on the terminal trail
displaced dust drifts toward orbit unconditional
wayward wicker heart
woven for a deeper art
splitting stars in half
keeps heaven's hemispheres
searching

lurching
large above our petty fears
cocking the hammer on coming years
as of yet
unspent
soon full-swept
unkempt and
all caring
weathering the wearing
burdens on our backs
bereft of wings-breadth
left
breathless

deathless
clawing at the dirt
wishing to be weightless

but
occasionally the earth
spins back to us
recombining feet with footsteps
warm and known

the
forward paths cleft
by theft of innocence
but brightly lit by evid
de porc epic nuitjust for one time, porcupine
i see shadow children everywhere
you creeper, sleep-invading magnet eyes

we stalk through our woods
alone
and pure moonlight, shining, wild and we are
crowned in firefly dance

fingernails just click, click
click, they've grown so long into
tree top branches, a home for our birds

i lay you down
on the bluebell mound and we both know a
sacrifice is needed, to cure our dizzying
heads, slick and silver
writhe and tell each fortune with the
slip of a crimson droplet

we've grown so long, winding,
finding wrong answers for the
right questions, we slip up and fall on
this silver path
reaches no end, e
last time i was drunki felt some bathroom hysteria bobble up in my chest.i felt
like a wind turbine with a broken teetering-hub, which stands
facing west. i felt seven daggers and 18 years of chipped
nails creep into my dreams one by one. i felt a lot of
terrible things. i also felt

your hands and your fingers as they grew rocky.Last time i was
drunk i tried writing letters to 3 people in heaven. the first
snorted, the second wouldn't acknowledge my existence. the third was
killing himself again.the third was telling me i need to
shove the words into a mortise.i felt like i needed to
keep a promise, or a secret, but all i have is cavities.i
felt like g
But I cant sleep for dreamingShe pads across the empty pavement in the moonlight.

I wish you were awake.  I wish someone was.  
And covers her face with one hand, swallows one, two, three.

I can see you.

Go to sleep Juliet—and when you wake up in the morning you won't feel like tearing out your hair.

But the night is so perfect and dark.  It winds its way towards me like a snake on the surface of a black pen.  
I think that none of this is real, Matthew, what do you think?  And she picks a scab slowly off of one knee and looks at me.

Like I'm the only man in the world.  Like there isn't blood running down her leg.

I'll pray for you.  
Her laughter fills the room
PaperbackI still dream
of running away to Boston,
catching a muse like a cold and
living somewhere cramped. tiny.
peeling blue paint.

my muse would probably work someplace
with indecent fluorescent lights, like
Target. I'll find it while shopping
for popcorn and tampons, and we'll
live happily ever after inside
my old diary, sleeping on a bed of
blue ink and scribbled love notes.

if this isn't a morgue of half-baked hopes,
tell me what is.

I see your token aspirations and raise you
my dreamed up myths; bruised, pink and blue,
and waiting on a producer to turn me into a dozen
dollar industry. that's my proclamation,
make of it what you are.

I still
Indigo Spellat night i start
    revolutions,

    defying the gods
    i claim the stars,

    my personal vessels
         to reach my dreams,

         the possibilities
         are endless;

         will you follow
                        me?

    take a turn into
         endless shades,

    so much more intense
    than the day-dreaming hours,

    using simply my minds eye
    i push beyond boundaries

                        and fly,

    i'll venture to wherever
    my sleeping heartbeat
                        takes me,

         forever lost in my
                        indigo spell.
For YouIt is not a regretful time I write in,
though it is full of half empty coffee cups and dumpsters that smell like
“I forgot again. I forgot again.”
Being lost in a crowd is nothing more than not missing you when I sleep and scratching away my first layer of skin when I’m awake
and never knowing which way I should take when the traffic lights turn
and turn
and turn,
and I’m at a stand still
because there’s something that something is supposed to be
and I understand that one day fate will have eaten me fully
and while it gnaws on my long brown hair
I think of all the nightmares where I cut it off
and you were
UnderwaterLast night I swam, and
the water was radioactive.

I grew gills
and blew bubbles, turning breaths
into memories.

There were no seagulls on the pier, no stalls,
no sweet and sticky smells,

but a pair of my 'fuck me' shoes.

I slept in seashells, and watched
the sun leak on to the surface –

ashes from earth blowing in the sky with the
salt from the sea.

The coral towered, and the
narwhals wearied with their brittle horns;

split and grew, branched antlers -
stags of the sea.

And like the submissive doe, I
rode on their backs –

soaring through the northern drift,
Atlantis bound, free from the soiled bonds of ear
No moon, no placeYou won’t find god at the bottom of any bottle, no--
these days he’s down in Mexico turning water into sour sangria;
dancing over broken glass and bumping hips with ghosts. See how
these skeletons he calls home have long forgotten
their own bones. They have forgotten the shape
and the sound. Now there is only the swelling of bitter bark
thick on their tongues when they wake alone in the night,
silver icicles of moonlight hanging from the dark like pendants.
But they move like there is a heart still in their chests
trying, trying to rattle loose; like there is something
still left to lose. And the ribs, which are candlesticks,
which are knives, which are fistfuls of broken teeth,
which are a cage sitting at the feet of hungry giant, waiting
to be filled. Hallelujah hallelujah they sing, but the words
are all lost with the wind. Bird bone, frog bone, snake bone, whale
bone. We write their names in the dust in our skin
in the night. They say no moon, they say no place
the nightmare goes like this:the nightmare goes like this:

an apron, clean pine green,
at work. the girls i know
so sweet and auburnborn
fixing hot chocolate behind

the bar. halloween blows
in tonight, burn out the
lights. burned out the

lights. smear our faces in
emerald green, walk the
corridors ziplipped as a

field mouse. the acid sizzles
in my mouth and the paint
leaves patches from neck to

navel. brown as something
yellow left in the oven too long,
the length of my torso a
flamethrower's crime scene, a

dinner embarrassingly overdone.
the girls see them and laugh
like i am a carousel burbling
highpitched ice cream music,

they sit me at their feet, a
je
Browse More Like This

More from ~completeaccident

WalkI never got here with my shoes
on. I could never find the path:
it is marked by bricks
a little more slippery, bits of grass
without stickers, but down the path,
long, long,
is a little home.

If I say you were under my skin,
please, understand, I painted myself
like a hallway: doors here, here.
I come home when the sun
leaves behind silence, and if you
come, take off your shoes,
I am spread beneath you
and I am the doors, all the doors
you pass into.

Slow on my feet, tender, but I come home
in the presence of the Holy--
In the House of the Lord
past the dragon,
through the middle dreams.
Walking softly, letting shadows
Piss and FuryThe caves I'm digging
are calling my ancestors home. Wolf-haired,
doe-eyed men
and women with strong arms,
hearts that don't die
but burst
in a rush of blood and love, of other life.
The caves I'm digging are buying back
what we left behind.

In all these years, I never turned.
There are lives behind me. Hate behind me
I never watched recede. My anger
is shovels. Sweat. The caves I'm digging
are calling forgotten home.

There are territories staked
out here, piss and fury
to be scrubbed out. There are holes,
fist-sized, in the walls;
my anger is spackle, welcome mats.
The wolves are gathering
to sit by my fires.

The rain
Where the Desert SleepsI knew the miles
before the markers, I found the west
by walking with the sun. I said,
there are lizards in my blood,
there is sandstone in my teeth.

I said, I am the light's daughter,
I am a cactus wren.
This is my home among the thorns.

I said to trees, to starlight,
I said to graves and streets and men,
and you said,

Girlchild, I live too far out in the desert.

I whispered into corners, I wove into
papyrus: I am the light's daughter,
I am a cactus wren,

I raised my hand from lifetimes of loving,
died and dried to crispy bones
so you would find me
still with your name between my teeth, and you said,

The desert has me. It

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A Green Reach

:iconcompleteaccident:

The farmland settles into me each time
we drive
the long road to things.
All my insides are shifting
to let the roots weave through. The sky
never seemed so close as when the short trees
ground themselves in your own fertile belly:
cloud friends, you are only a green reach
away.

I came for the sky, but I'm learning to need
the farms, like learning coffee
in your milk and sugar. An accident, but the sky
is so good
that I have to have it all,
that I can't resist anything
it touches. Joy has her fists
in my hair and her breasts
against my back, and each time I laugh
I fall in love again
forever. I meant to root
here, to dig my fingers in,
but the sky found me first and shook me glad,
and now like a fat happy pot,
I am all soil. I grow.

72

9 4 2
:iconcompleteaccident:

A Green Reachby ~completeaccident

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Scraps? Maybe straight to scraps. A praise song.
©2012-2013 ~completeaccident
Category: Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

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Submitted on
November 16, 2012
File Size
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:iconarchelyxs:
*archelyxs Dec 29, 2012
"cloud friends, you are only a green reach
away."
This is amazing. Really, please don't scraps. :coffeecup:
Reply
:iconcompleteaccident:
~completeaccident Dec 30, 2012
Haha, thank you. :heart:
Reply
:iconmijes:
~Mijes Nov 21, 2012
:}
Reply
:iconcompleteaccident:
~completeaccident Nov 26, 2012
:heart:
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