LEBENSLUGE
. .
The Absent Twin
It’s me mother, the absent twin,
The lost fruit of thy womb.
Momento mori in a drumskin,
A candle, a lampshade.
Your little dream of a master race,
My very own diaspora.
No exit wounds,
Just organic shrapnel and broken music.
Aligned to the border, the curve of your spine,
I tried to take his half, he tried to take mine.
Still I have to ask
When we press the bow, do we hurt the string
Serenading the greater nothing?
Is my big picture your little picture
Ensconced in archaic tunings?
Was it a sacrament or a sin offered to a minor deity?
Whatever it was, it took you in,
but I was left drying on the sheets in two forty-one.
In the warm rain, counting the missed.
From the cold flame, a kick and a wish.
We’d like to fly, but we’re only falling.
Silence. We could fade into silence.
We could keep our names at the bottom of a well.
With the discarded shells of those we’ve passed
collapsed in the road.
Violence. We’ve endured the Violence .
You can pull a penny from an eye,
A oath from a sigh, a sparrow from a sky
Filled with dangerous birds.
They’ve danced before in the wingdust.
Smear
I’d been dreaming
You were spitting in my face,
When the Earth fell through
And the sky closed up.
Like a Sacrament,
You were spitting in my face.
We were doomed by proximity.
Left, Right. Left, Right.
There is no name for this;
There isn’t anything.
Down. Up, down.
There is no need to focus;
You’ve lost your sight.
Pretty, down, pretty,
Went in and got her.
Down, pretty, down,
In Ancient Water.
I would smear my blood on your door,
If I knew it would make
your Dark Angels pass by.
A dream’s a seed that dreams,
And a seed fulfills its dreamer’s needs.
Even our sordid little dreams
carry their legacy.
Increasingly, we are diminished,
By these unused gifts and a dark dream.
But we glide upon the surface,
Some pieces fit, the rest we toss.
If depth is just another word for bottom,
I want the surface, I want the gloss.
Skydivers falling
from the clouds like hail.
Christmas cards arrive,
Disguising dirty bombs.
Black Raven flowers that don’t
need the light,
Venom for Lady Disdain
To immolate in shame.
My plate of stones,
Your band of scorn,
We could occupy different orbits.
Picked apart. You’ve been picked apart,
By these dark little things,
Disembodied and mean.
