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In this room

A silence overwhelms all sound.

The furniture passes.

And the air divides

*

To welcome my presence.

Even the phone lines bow
To meet me. And when the

Phone doesn't ring, I don't
Continue to live.

More poetry coming soon. Momentary lapse of progress. Probably after the completion of FB4 next week. Be patient.

I am the empty vessel
I always knew that I would become.

I am a container for the anger
Of a stranger.

And I am the stranger.

He makes a hollow inside you
For himself. A home. A place to linger.

He makes a lifeline out of blood and shrapnel.
And in that moment, the world begins with his voice.

And ends with a whisper
In your ear, signifying his return
From the hunt, fresh blood drying on his chin.

If you whisper,
He will hear you.

And he will call you
On the phone.

Miles are nothing.
He finds everyone.

*

Your closet door opens
At One in the morning.

And he removes the cape.

( What the fucking hell is this shit?? )

Fade

Into roots and willows

Into chain link and bare bulbs

Humming.

*

Into memory

Into warm regret and coffee cups

And soft words

Over phone lines.

*

Into space

Into the wind

Into water.

*

And leave a memory.

A whisper.

A echo in the dark.

And his body was warm in the bed.

Even though I was in the kitchen.

With my coffee.

I don't remember when we stopped talking.

Years ago,
My grandmother's hands
Crossed the ocean
To meet her lifeline.

*

The open sky

Her hands on the railing

Sun sinking into the water.

*

Her eyes were flames on the horizon.
Her destination, a dot on a map on a table.

It's much bigger in person.

New poem in fb4_update. Go check it out now. For real. Join, even. Come on, folks, it's fun.

Se7en