Desire

And I don’t know how much it really means to be right

There are things that I’d like to believe are true

but I know that memory blurs, distorts, and bends

with time and desire like that moon waxing and waning

that I stare at in the pitch-black night of my dreams

where I wait, suspended in my emotions

grasping at something, nothing, everything that I was and am and will be

 

Atone

I don’t owe you anything

though there are moments

when I feel that I still do

owe some sort of penance

weighty and tight in my chest

owe it to a memory

that may or may not

have ever been real

cuz I can’t be certain anymore

of anything I can recall

as it’s all tangled/distorted

by time and sorrow and guilt

bleeding together inside

the tricky gray matter of my brain

so that the question remains

lingering on my warm tongue

well long past the case of truth

Do I owe you anything?

Burn

I feel fine for right now

under this red-tinged half a moon

waiting to go have a drink

but I’ve got a sense of foreordaining

and its creep-seeping into my body

slow dancing within my blood

and teasing my brain matter

a troublesome nag of desire

haunting my step some nights

a few more than I’d like to admit

so that feeling fine turns to memory

and longing is the air I come to breathe

Forgive

Beg your pardon

I left before dawn

basking in the freshly lit world

and filling spent lungs

with the air of sudden leeway

I can want it to be

but there’s little left to be done

You can wish it to be

but there’s nothing more to say

Beg your pardon

Feelings don’t wash clean so swiftly

that we can remain immune

to their tight-choke grip

so they cloak us like fog

and we walk in their haze

till time has had its bellyful

We exist now in the postscript

Beg your pardon