the tide comes in heavy
salt waves crash into my lungs
I hold her name in one breath
a life I refuse to spit out
waves rush over my head
Heaven has closed
mid-prayer
God steps back
no dove
no ark
just the long blue throat
swallowing me
the undertow has been given permission
and still won’t take me
unholy light
pours through the cracks
of my soul
drenching the ache
her hollow sheets
cover my mouth —
soaking up every memory
dripping from my eyes
the walls continue to speak in tongue
unholy lips
she is only a rumor I’ve heard
a prayer that once existed
dust following me since September
the wreckage of ordinary things
has crossed the threshold
unholy silence
drips through the window
her fingerprints greet me
in the morning
life is flickering
stars are collapsing
I’m still breathing
a fire is burning out
a response to a poem written by a friend
dear red
home is a word
a pulse between
ribs and sky
a whispering Father
a drifting map
with roads
that laugh
then vanish
take your feet
plant them in the
heart of your Mother
the soil may mock you
and
your lips may forget
the shape of the word
but home
is always
waiting inside
The quiet Earth
even when the sky
swallows every prayer
take your feet
and plant them there
in the beginning
man created words
and the words were
without form
and void
and the beginning was the end
and the beginning is still the end
voices split like atoms
language slipped
through hands of the rash
every syllable
remains
and the beginning is the end
and the words are the beginning
of the end
and every sound spoken
lingers in between
time and tongue
gather the climbing vine
after the medication
my legs will
crawl away
too guilty to return
and
when the children
come weeping
the day will be no more
a great shame
a great sin
a great suspension
from an anchor
hook
the ends of the Earth
will gather
to mourn
a stumble
a great climbing
vine will
be judged
I
am a semi-colon
however
in between
two thoughts
an imaginary sentence
period
he
will come
to cut me off
before I make
a point
the geometry of
making a point
is simple
in his handwriting
I am
enclosed in
parentheses
non-essential
peripheral
however
the corruption of ink
began way
before
I learned how
to linger
in between
breaths
my name
will stain
she is a handful
of revelation
a minor fiction
dripping from
memory
into
a
language I
do not know
a silhouette of a whisper
a secret flower
breathing in her
holy fable
righteous design
she would never
consider
her name
my tongue
a symphony
created to
cure
an
inability
to love
sweet circadia
take me to bed
taste the language
of my pale
eyes
the burn of
my tongue
my aphonic truth
this dry hour
slides down
my throat
a void
a slow churn
a deep tornado
begging to touch
the Earth
I haven’t tasted
an accent yet
that refuses
to be
understood
the dark moods
of Earth
will call my soul
out one day
my incurable
heart
will be a lie
my body
will fall
into pitying
hands
all great religions
will collide
and
for once
home will come
to me
the molecules of emotion
are being eaten
by a child
letter by letter
suffering extreme
hunger
his mother
a fictional thing
lives on
sleep
sleep
dreadful sleep
good digestion
requires blindness
otherwise
the eyes
spend the rest
of their lives
starving from
neglect
maggiemaeijustsaythis 