To The Girl In The Photograph

Hold on, little girl

Safe inside your photograph

Be strong, little girl

Maybe you still have a chance

Once upon a time,

I was just like you

And if you saw me now

You'd wonder at it too

It's too late for me,

But you could make it through

Hold on to your life

Don't let me take it away from you

Sleep tight, little girl

While you're not yet a memory

You'll be alright, little girl

You might never have to meet me

Once upon a time

I had the chance to be

What you will not become

And all because of me

I plucked out your blue eyes

Just so I could see

If I still remember you

Is there a chance you could forgive me?

Fishnets

I'm still a little boy
And I don't know where I'm going
I'm not sure how I got here
So I'll let her take over
She wears fishnets

I'm unsure, as always
And I have no idea what I'm doing
I'm not sure how to drive this thing
But I think she knows how to steer
And she wears fishnets

Maybe I'm in love with you
But you'd never know from me
I haven't got the balls to tell you
But I'm sure she can handle it
Because she wears fishnets

I'm a tiny thing
Terrified to put my foot down
Without her high heeled shoes
She knows how to use them
After all, they match her fishnets

And I get to be her for a little while
If I wear fishnets.

Edgy

I am not a plot device, sir
I do not appreciate your artistic vision
As it applies to me.

I refuse to be art directed, sir
Nor do I wish for you to determine my fate
Based only on what is properly metaphorical.

Moreover, sir, I am not dramatic irony,
Innovative staging, or creative writing.
And with all due respect, I decline to be your literature.

I am not a metaphor, sir
Nor simile, or any sort of powerful imagery

I do not appreciate your attempts to write me, sir
Because I do not exist merely
So you can call yourself edgy.

Keepsakes

I've always been fond of keepsakes
Old movie ticket stubs,
Bottle caps, pens, little things
They remind me that there is something out there
Beyond my cold room and coffee pot.

Likewise, I cherish my bruises,
Scratches, scars, the occasional cut
Tiny reactions to something other than myself
They remind me of the things outside my skin
Of cats and tree branches and the hard and reassuring ground
Of lovers, stoves and bookshelves
Things that are comforting
In their distance from my insides.

Scars

It is odd to be troubled by the nonexistence of scars
Or to take comfort in the patterns
You hope that they'll cut into you
You've memorized them like a catechism, haven't you?
You're wishing for them
For an actual manifestation
To convince you it's not all in your head.
You want to have something to show for it, don't you?
It's still mysterious to you
You're hoping like a frightened child
That you'll even get that far, aren't you?

Temple

My body is no temple
Rather, it is an empty church
And within its shattered doors
You will perhaps find one lonely widow
Crying for her husband because she has forgotten how to pray.

There is no stained glass in my eyes
Just a broken window,
Looking in on ransacked pews and tattered hymnals
Nobody has ever sung within these walls
Not that anyone would hear.

If you should walk up my dusty aisles
And sift through the dust that covers a long forgotten altar
Perhaps you'll find my great-grandmother's bible
It was left here long ago, and I do not know what to do with it.

There is but one benediction
Within my unholy tabernacle
This broken bombed out shell of faith
Nothing is sacred, and I am a church.

Modern

I feel very cold
But I might go stand in the rain

I'm not sure I can see
But I might go sit in the dark

I can't feel my legs
But I might feel the need to run away

I feel very fragile
But I might go stand on the highway

I might be insane
But you can call me modern
Or maybe misunderstood,
If it makes you feel better.

Perfection

She's going home tonight
To carve herself into
A perfect waxy graven image
Worship at her feet
And you will never see her melt.

She's locking herself away tonight
To practice smiling into nothingness
She's a photograph, she dreams
Hold her still
And you will never see her fade.

She's cutting deep tonight
To form herself into an hourglass
And arrest the heavy hands of time
Keep her polished
And you will never see her crack.

She'll paint herself tonight
To keep her carefully chosen colours
All inside the lines
Never get her wet
And you will never see her bleed.

Flowers In Hell

Here on the rack

There are roses in my head

And I dream of daisies 

When they tighten the screws.

There are welts on my skin

But roots in my head

Even though the lilies

Whisper that I'm dead.

There are poppies sprouting everywhere

Even as the pain sets in.

The sky is turning black,

But I can see it rosemary blue,

And there are violets in every lash.

In the red of blood are rosy petals

And in the sting of the wounds

Are the thorns.

 

Dresden Lullaby

Here's your house, like an empty eye

Hear the wind like a lullaby

There's your son, he was sleeping

You never got to say goodbye

And here's your mother's wedding band

Here's your father's helping hand

There's an hourglass in ashes

But you can still recall the sand

Here's your favourite street like a martyr

Hear a last few prayers for water

There's a little girl, she could be playing

But for the fact that she's been slaughtered

Here's your chance to say goodbye

With this Dresden lullaby

Little boys shouldn't play with matches

Left a city burnt to ashes

There's your school like a murdered child

There's the lot where weeds grew wild

And you reach down and close the eyes

Of the teacher who could make you smile

Here's your grandfather's photograph

Half his face has turned to ash

You touch it, it disintegrates

But you remember how he used to laugh

There's the church where you went on Sunday

The office where you worked on Monday

There's the door of the little shop

You said you'd go and visit someday

Here's your chance to say goodbye

With this Dresden lullaby

Little boys shouldn't play with matches

Left a city burnt to ashes.

A Series Of Early Morning Cow-Related Haiku

Cow against the sky

A small serene silhouette

God I need coffee

There are two cows now

Still so very far away

I still need coffee

Is there meaning there?

In the silhouetted cow

Or am I just mad?

A gulf between cows

Is possibly symbolic

But not this early

One cow wandered off

Over the crest of the hill

I cannot see it

Will I ever be

A cow upon a hillside

About whom people write?

There is not a lot

That can be called poetic

In the distant cow

I have filled a page

With rambling about the cow

For I need coffee.