She moves not

She moves not, merciless.
She says nothing, in gasps.
And because she
Does not feel this
Jerking of the soul like I do —
Being torn from
Gray skies of memory.

My eyes, deep-set cocktail onions,
Burn through night
Anticipating a glimpse of her,
Until I have stared so long
Across the chasm of darkness
That it no longer makes sense.
It only mocks and laughs at me
With shadow-tinted doubt.

The mind screams, but
Still this quiet room is
A wasteland.
Does she cry like I do?
Am I alone in the anguish?
I fear that I am,
But this is how love does.

© 20 November 2011, mhdraper.

Mix

Someday, I will look back
Upon tonight, without concern.
Someday, when I am not so lonely,
When I feel the curve of
A lover’s breast and the world
Seems right and true.

I will forget the beads
Of sweat that comingled
Among hypertonic tears;
Those hidden from you,
Dried by time, yet
In stark, plain view.

I won’t remember your
Pursed lips or how they writhed
Blood soaked ribbons, the
Same that clenched in unresolved cinch,
Severing the bind of two heart’s support
With umbilical detachment.

I call myself a fool now,
But someday, I will forget.
I will find another fool
Who like me, fell upon her
Sword long before the
Battle ever began to rage.

© 1 September 2011, mhdraper.

Collapse

The heartless words
That rape me,
The pointless tears
That shape me,
The endless sunset
That saves me,
The night’s slumber
That waves me

Forward.

The heart,
Attached to life’s lathe,
Is sculpted most
With friendship —
Whose love within
My grip beckons,
Begs I hold on.

So I do, even in
Unrelenting solitude,
The duress of midday,
As a dressmaker’s chalk
Marks off lines I should
Say.

And I do, moving in
Rapturous inspiration,
Laying prostrate before
The behemoth story –
Cautiously awaiting
The next word.

Patience,
It says.
Patience.

© 6 June 2011, mhdraper.

Petals

Oh, yes! —
I remember
the flower petals
unfolding, wet
with rain —
and the insipid
clouds that
hung
overhead.

© 1 June 2011, mhdraper.

Consider

The loneliest
I have ever been
was once
when in love.

I am not in love
now; but alone,
and lonely. Is
there a difference?

I often consider
what it would
be to simply
be lonely again.

© 17 March 2011, mhdraper.

Rebirth

I've died
A thousand times
In your arms,
But today, I will
live without you.

© 24 February 2011, mhdraper.

Bee Li(n)e

She seldom spoke the truth
even though we never
talked about it, not about
the many broken highways,
dwindling into exit ramps.

Even the thin avenues are
long gone, overgrown and
mute. Yet, I still hear her:
she, an indecisive bee;
she, who lied about the sting.

© 18 February 2011, mhdraper.

Creation, in three parts

1. Prayer

What aspirations have I,
as an artist,
to create, to mimic,
to echo such
sacred excellence?

What dreams are worth
altering reality,
moulding baseboards
into better worlds;
to be dreams no more?

What hope is stuck,
an appleseed,
in the throat, caught
while coughing
from laughter?

What voice speaks
that has not spoken,
telling the heart to
wake the mind; shaking,
wake up, wake up?

2. Actions

This brush is coarse, it
is the bristling cold weather,
whose teeth gnash on linen,
canvas, panels tout as trees,
bare against the horizon.

And I stand at the base,
to scrape away the paint
of yesterday, giving in,
speaking in consolable studio,
"It was never, whether."

The city ash builds upon
paint-stained windows, rusting
while trains seldom run late,
high on gas, regales
the passing ear.

I look out, watching this,
my manuscript lay unwritten,
my canvas silent in the dusk,
and the last sliver of sunlight,
hissing along the skyline.

3. Afterlife

Soon, it would be dark.
Soon, colder than ever before;
with paint drying in jars,
the coptic circumstance of
a retired eloquence.

© 15 February 2011, mhdraper.

Hesitation

I heard a thousand reasons
why love was not for her.
All the while, I kept my eye
on a pouting kiss that hung
midair, waiting to be taken.

© 8 Feb 2011, mhdraper.

From a café

The afternoon segued
into cool-toned night:
jazz-drunk trumpets, coaxed
into pinstripe solitudes
played by warm fingers.

© 8 Feb 2011, mhdraper.