Best Introspectionfire Poems
I.
I am devastated by the fire and frost
of these seasons between separation and divorce.
No vindictive act quite cures the phantom pain
that exists only in the emptiness.
II.
Dim capsules pad my senses
and brittle fruits amuse my tongue
rx inhibitions sewn into the folds
of small hours; a temporary vaccination
against the moments in life
that challenge my will to live.
III.
Wishing stars and a thick weeping moon
curl up beneath animated skin
like a thousand tumors
anticipating the feeling
of some strange
Knowing
III.
Eyes eavesdrop, Midnight disciples
bear witness to my streams
of misunderstood whispers
as if they might interpret my lexis
of suspired scrolls;
those vanishing ellipses that curl from lips
in the gestation of a moment.
III.
This restlessness; it germinates
into a blooming sub-species of fire,
aches of famine and fullness
always alternate
a layer of sun
over a layer of sin.
IV.
The consequences of containing fire
blossom in my mouth,
uncurling one petal of fire after another
until some great
demon-flower crawled from between my lips
an anonymous hunger,
that constantly folds self into self
and manipulates
the occult within
V.
I was someone with you and I will be
someone without you.
Painted Delilah's, scarlet sirens, apples and bloodshed-
You tried to teach me to fear the bold obscenities of Red, to be a willing captive within
conventions of virtue and the expectations that came with my gender and station.
I learned to speak softly, in shades of anemic pink but my tongue was never far from
hemorrhaging.
I resisted the riots building within, but with each aspiration I found myself closer to the
consequences of containing fire; the blisters in the wake of passions, the residual footprints
left on the tip of my tongue by the spirit of my own fire.
I'm not a red woman. I’ve never gone looking for Red, it came to me from somewhere inside
and I swallowed it, afraid that it would blossom in my mouth, uncurling one petal of fire after
another until some great demon-flower crawled from between my lips to seduce my fate with
a brimstone damped tongue.
I couldn't choke on my voice forever, so it has manifested itself through my hands, through
my poetry. My fire has found amnesty and burns silently so that you do not have to hear
what I need to say.
My words may be stained red but they have not slaughtered any lambs or stirred an
apocalyptic sequence of events.
I cannot live without breathing, even if I would like to aid your comfort… and so, I breathe
through my fingers so you might enjoy the silence and company of your own red-blind
convictions.
like a bullet through the barrel
hitting the dead-on center
steady on the trigger
as it makes that clicking sound
a full clip loaded in the grip
as I fire another round
it's not close to being finished
cause I'm just getting started
a silhouette on a wire
with circles for my sight
as I fire each new round
I always hit my mark
I hit the switch and bring it
closer for me to admire
but what I have discovered is
I can't hit a moving target