I huddle over the fire
Deciding what to do about the stew
Cold in his bowl
Again
I make a foil packet meal
That fails
Smores then banana boats
Then fiddle with my top button to itch at a scar
Can I see? He finally intones
I unbutton another and another
Then stretch the shirt to show the start of a thick scar forming beneath stitches
And the rest?
The first part is yours and so I show you your handiwork,
But the rest was all me
I button two buttons
I’ll speak it into existence
Because you taught me that’s what poetry can be
Pain and scars
I also taught you, he stands, to prepare and accept the wound. No matter who gives it.
Ah, but now you talk of love.
Do not fool yourself girl, all poetry is love.
All poetry is hell.
He bows, strings a couple arrows, then stands to read at the poetry reading’s podium.
I prepare for a wounding.

Thy silent face
So foreign in stillness
Masquerades
of quirks and tics and pain’s crest
which rested like a crown
upon thy brow

Startle from dream
And hold me
As you held me
Yester’ eve

Hum beneath thy skin
The melody of you
For even crumpled
I am in animation
And you so
So still

Still as windless lake
Glass smooth
Though rippled

I haunt thy shores
And hear no aching owl in return
To my cry
No baying wolf
No roar of bear
No answer soft upon this air
Of stillness

Though the moon shakes the tides
From so great a distance
Holding you
I’ve no pull
To draw you one iota closer

Ah, my love
What use are words to stopped up ears
And kisses to unfeeling lips
That in speaking I interrupt
Thy stillness

Forgive me as I harmonize
As best as i can

You don’t find a muse,
They’re thrust upon you
The good ones won’t accept
The bad ones don’t know how Muses turn out
So they dance
But the best ones would melt you in their crockery with lips this close to your ear
Telling you how to revise your work
They’re beautiful
Achingly beautiful in none of the ways they should be
They shake at the same frequency some say
But this is false
They harmonize again and again then break your face into tears of rejection
Not teenage breakup
No
The heavy stuff
The pull your ear off, fill your pockets with pond and rocks stuff

And walk you back before you are lost
Start again they say
Oh, and kiss you
The kiss to sway love
but not in the way you would be kissed
No if you wish the cheek you’ll get the lips
And vice versa
Muses are not mythical or rare
Some come in dozens
Some visit annually
But the true muse
You both hate and admire
Despise and long for
Would baby then be cradled in return
True muse, so it goes, gives you what you need
Even if it breaks her
And you will break her
Every time you put your pen to page

I repeat his love letters
Like lace the lay over my eyes
Shadows in my vision
A haunting long since gone
A breath of curses now on his lips
I repeat his love letters
Into my soup
Hungrily eat

The dusting of pepper
And salt
The 6 pack of favorite drink
Ignorant of my reply
When I turn
Thrashing my back when I recite again

I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

When is it your poem

I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

When is it my words

I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

When is it complete