I really want to hear this silence
all I hear is my own echo
another orphan
eavesdropping on unanswered questions
but there are no more nickels
no comfort in the early morning stillness
blurred at the edges
I send them home
my body doubles and stand ins
any excuse to wear a mask
careful not to let anyone look over my shoulder
a hand tailored facsimile of grace
forgiveness seems so unnecessary

He was twelve when he first realized he could remove his face;
set it calmly aside
reattach it at will.
Shocked he hadn’t noticed it earlier,
hadn’t felt the small, sturdy latches just behind his ears
Hands trembled
fumbled the first latch,
pressed it forward,
met its spring-loaded resistance

paused

overcame the tension
released into ecstasy that joy of perfect anonymity.

For years he would only remove his face when he was alone
in the bathroom
holding that limp flesh in his hands
slack
unresponsive
detached
part of him.
Not.

Much more malleable off the skull than on,
released from the tension of adhering to phrenological cartography.

He was twenty when he learned he could make more of them
read Elliot in an English class,
fell in love,
began his life’s work.
Prepared faces to meet other faces
sometimes braver
sometimes faces that looked at the sun,
burned out their retinas, saw only fireworks
faces that always wept
that smiled
that listened attentively
that offered sage advice

Warehoused them,
carefully labelled,
each honest if not always true,
they piled like snow drifts.
filled closets.
used them as blankets,
covered his feet in the small hours
began to fear opening the door
they started to spill out,
no room left under the rug,
their weight cumulative, inevitable
the barest whisper
inaudible among the faces
each soundlessly asking the question

Began with a river rock,
fit nicely in his pocket,
unpolished
its weight reassuring,
constant
discovered hematite
put them in his coffee,
dared himself to choke
let them click on his teeth
imagined himself a spy
on a hotel balcony in paris
Found amethysts at an estate sale
reminded him of easter
he put them in shirt pockets
a kindly grandfather
passing them to wide-eyed youngsters
bouncing on sore and gentle knees
agates, thickly veined
volcanic tree-rings
sat them on yellowed pages
paper weights in the
mausoleum stillness of private libraries
Tucked a small pearl
into the hollow of his cheek
they added gravity to his speech
kept him from noticing the terrible thirst
pyrite abraded his ankle
blister-tight rolled in his sock,
the discomfort a substitute pain
didn’t notice the first trickle
glacier slow,
viscous amber stillness

Eyes shut
she longed for this
ears, face,
chest
crimson
flushed, hot
unaware, her toes curled
back arched
she threw her hands up
ecstastic
filled

a moan
mostly animal
lower than her speaking voice
rumbled from that nameless place
escaped parted red lips
like a sigh
announced her devotion

At the end she seemed to sway
to rock in steady rhythm,
each move of her hips, hands, mouth
a response

Moments later, the benediction
and she returns
breathless, disoriented,
blinks
files out
shakes his hand

Alone
back arching
furtive
desperate
thinking of that shaken hand
of her hand
transported
healed.

dismissed without evidence

leaves me with no cognitive dissonance

the only position is atheism

Shun the ‘transcendent

the grave will supply plenty of time for silence

like an unctuous merchant in a bazaar

a friend of poverty

suffering was a gift from God

necessary rather than sufficient

distrust anything

put together by crude, uncultured human mammals

terrify children

simply ludicrous

withdraw our ‘respect’ from such fantastic claims

throw out the ripening vintage

they refuse to keep their fantasies to themselves

Fool yourself into happiness, while pretending not to do so

bawling and fearful infancy of our species

asserted without evidence

defy the foulness of theocracy

not in what it thinks, but in how

only true as long as everybody agreed to it

The noble title of “dissident” must be earned

modesty is too arrogant for me

the natural world is wonderful enough

She labored silently

tiny grunts

pulled inward

with the efforts of this expulsion

exposed

she hid in the stillness of early dawn

screamed

tore mourning doves from the air

stuffed them into her mouth

wrent the sky with her cries

made not a sound

pushed from instinct

her body would do this without her

had declared the time was right

battered down the door

She clenched the outstretched hand of the father

felt his grip in return

firm, reassuring

she was alone

for at least the second time in so many months

hoping to be caught

straining to be heard in her silence

pushing toward release

she bit down on regret

pressed until her brown eyes burst

delivered unto the leaves and twigs a voice

mewing its tiny protests

these she would not silence

had brought nothing to wrap the child in

staggered to her feet

braced herself against the back of the garage

bent

whispered his name

said nothing

my bridges are burnt
snowflake ash
heavy as song
crashing upon deaf ears

With enough velocity
even the past is possible

the song can still be felt
tattooingbones
earthquake subtle

the scent of siren’s blood carries on the wind
inhaled
fragrant as powdered ammonia
coats the tongue
clings to lungs
silica soft

penlights in the warehouse

dusty beams
illuminate
provide no insight
there is no mad archivist here!

soft science
bespectacled theorists
rock hard for couches
thrust deep between the cushions
hoping to retrieve a memory
a dream

carrion cries of success
a moment unwrapped
vilolently masticated
swallowed for approval
undigested

Cartographers of deceit
these maps are unreliable
“here there be monsters”
the only labels of value
trading currency for hours
time spent drawing borders
creating that terrible rim walker
call Grendel into being
curse his knowing
These monsters are for slaughter
My bridges are burnt
use them as pyres.

When to thine brackish eyes I perchance to look
calling to mind the springtime of your youth
leaning to your lips, a kiss was all I took
lovestruck was I when stricken by a tooth

I only meant to have some fun
a touch while in the crypt
your love suprised me even then
when into my flesh you ripped

some say twas wrong to take a bride
whose mind had gone to waste
to them I say I have my pride
but I had to have a taste

they that hath still running blood flee in mighty streams
toghether my dead love and I hunt them as a team