Home > Uncategorized > Too Many Days and Counting

Too Many Days and Counting

My bones are so rusty
that I need another word for broken,
some kind of glue
other than tequila, something
more reliable than duct tape
and silence: poor offerings
at an altar
I wish I could burn down –
each prayer candle
lit with a mistake, each stinging
like a bruise, blame
closing every door, until
my hands are useless,
but I already tossed my heart
into the ring –
and you, you always run.

This is what I get for being a heretic
in love with a holy man,
heart more hanged man
than hierophant,
all angles
and no expectations, passion
spreading like grief, fingers
pressed into ribs, only
my hips are a rosary
you can no longer rely on –
besides, my redemption
is nobody’s business.

I wonder how many times
we can play these parts
without becoming them –
how brave would we
have to be to peel back the layers
like a striptease,
dancing between forgiveness
and infidelity, our promises
made out of glass, so close
to the real thing –
but with all these departures
who are we even fooling?

I look like steel, spine
made out of sky and buildings,
but I am no more than
flesh and feelings, nothing stronger
than dye dropped into water,
a disruptive element,
just enough glitter to distract from
the ruin underneath, always
understanding that there’s no real way
to survive the fall –
this is not your problem.

Today, I will not answer the phone,
I won’t even acknowledge its ring,
but the pressure is still profound,
a fiction unwinding
in the wound, the noises piling up,
and I can’t stop
looking at my keys
as if I have somewhere to run –
I know the danger of repetition,
I know how to be close
and how much it costs,
and I know that you love me
and it’s all my fault,
but there’s no more marrow
in my bones – what else can I give you?

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