the snowbound heart


what measure a winter long sigh?

what measure? how does a breeze

or tempestuous exhale become?

oh width of rushing atoms, this is

where the sunrise furnace comes

time? what tether is this? i am

mechanically torn as the seasons

labour, i pass the same window

of grey each unfulfilled day, and crows

like hairpins bent in their dull roam

spring be dreamt of in lethargy’s

embrace, securing slept limbs under,

yearned night sweet soft dew,

nightingale sung honeysuckle

scattered wrists strewn, remember?

a month of years, clocks are

endless lungs exerting beads

of rust, memory serves to

remind, to scorch as if moonbeams

were meant to torched

i feel oceans

stretching rivers

acid withering away petals

skeleton bodies washed with the tide’s mourn,

bliss bowers turned corpses

held you like a lifelong dreaming

only thought maintains you in

it’s tired aspic and marrow, slumber

and what true infatuation dissolves

mountains into miniature stones

hang tears like small knives

held too painfully close, the

undulating mirror is a mirror

of an orgasm throe, not

nectar shiver tho, but splinters

unhappy wheels glide silent revolution,

weathers vague

far gone celebrations, withered occasions

sorrowful and buckled and stiff anniversaries

a mortuary echo, echoes

an empty chair, a hollow table,

spoons, knives, forks,

a silent wine still in overshadowed glass

“here’s to remorse”

everlasting in foreseeable blackness

sometimes by dark waters stride

flowing thru’, thru’ into changeable

meniscus where no star or beam

can utter, like losing one’s self

in inverted wonder

like fallen flower rots,

decide to gaze there, remain there

to feel teardrops

and pretend it’s rain

sometimes by moonlight sliver

hide where secrecy tends to

narrate it’s tongue, to anyone else

only the wind in constant muffle

here i am unreconciled, a tune of,

warbles overhead by scarce birds,

music losing in the throes of mist,

fallen i crouched where the masked air insists

time mostly conceals,

time has not mended, nor healed,

time has enshrined pain into an absolute,

neither seconds nor decades pale

archives of scrawled dew and memory

glistens all of them, and bleeds from

the retina, if only animated fleshes

all laughter and stood sunshine

harken whispers breathe beating snowbound

heart, stone triumphs and silent trumpets

grieve empty, echo nought but

quartz sighs entombed by cold

lilies whiten bled already quiet remorse boldness,

dwelt ‘ere long this century’s historic dust

become whole to it’s darkened lovelorn loneliness,

and i drift down ten thousand widths of broken petals

polyps of moss, thin lines read

“slept here for an eternity, patience being

thy worldly companion waiting”

now sleep is an entirety

the days slip slow as wax into stiffness,

time, for surely time must yield,

yield me into your welcome dead airs

and grace, time

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