Detour

I feel choked up.
Emotions high,
in the throat.

I feel knotted up.
Tied and strapped to
invisible posts of
my own design.

I can’t breathe,
I can’t sleep,
I can’t think.

I am going grey with
worry.

I am growing old with
lament.

I feel crazed,
recent days not
coherent.

I feel distorted,
running in place,
trying to escape.

I can’t think of you,
I can’t stop thinking
of you.

Anxiety wrapped up in
my gut, a python edging
to strike.

I feel trapped,
tangled up in these
emotions without cease.

I feel choked up.
I feel cornered.
I feel selfishness and discontent.

I wish I feel were stricken from my vocabulary.
I wish sleep brings me resolution.
I wish time abates my fears.
I wish courage devours both the python in my guts,
the worrying bird of my conscience.

Sketch in Reverse

You are a sketch
I do in reverse. Rose

Time fades away
those crisp lines
of your memory.

The tone of your voice,
the way you laughed,
the firmness of your embrace.

Everyday, my memories
are robbed of you.

Everyday, I lose another piece.

Only to be replaced with
hollow recollections.

Everyday, I lose you all over again.

All there will be left
are the indentations.
Hold fast to the lines.

I don’t want to forget you.

I sketch you in reverse.

Ink on Your Bones

January 23rd.

I always want to remember that night.

Driving into an unknown and dead downtown;
turning down into a lane of empty on-coming traffic
in search of ink for your bones.

City lights dim and I can almost feel the pulse
of civilization dying into a whisper.

Red walls and a damaged shop but the beards,
ink and humour make us feel at home in
a whole new world.

You are smiling straight from in the inside.
The sun set hours ago but now,
it’s in your smile.

Inside of a hive,
guns buzzing.

There’s ink on your bones,
small changes but a new energy.
A reminder now always in the
twist of a wrist.

I always want to remember that night,
electric and new.