#gypsythreadspoetry

[whitesheetsforwine]

Jokingly saying,

“My Jesus year.”

Seriously knowing

the power of words.

Let it be Jesus,

let it be You.

The broken mind,

and desperation.

Let it be Jesus

quietly wading

through my moments.

Lamenting,

“It took you so long,”

but then if it’s Jesus,

let it be.

[whitesheetsforwine]

The Weight of Me

there’s so much weight around us. 

everything is weighty even when we make 

a way to have less gravity. 

maybe not the right things, 

though, 

are weighty, 

the hips

lips, 

and thighs, 

She: “maybe 4-5 times a month… I hope I never stop counting.”

[whitesheetsforwine]

i’m sorry

always wondering if you forgave.

forgiving you always and waiting to hear

“I forgive you” myself.

as if that communicates all the little raindrops that form the waterfall of

comforting, releasing and cathartic tears.

screaming in able pillows of

white,

spotless of dark matter.

words, whispers,

holy prayers.

never was I half hearted.

to hate the words now,

seems unreal.

it was countless imaging,

many regrets,

and feelings of

so low, baby.

this is what told me all I needed to know.

it’s the asking that is the lock and the key.

how could I miss your safe

apology?

[whitesheetsforwine]

Proverbs 30:23

tequila dripping down my neck

peppered with salt.

help me feel something of myself,

you in relation to me.

gulps of harder-to-talk-these-days,

and satiated in the hearth of

letting the words fall out.

hard and clean,

shattered just exactly right.

how we are not supposed to be.

is this vulnerability?

i told you mostly,

i shook well.

you listened,

each little piece,

every little breath of air.

reaching out in the darkness.

when it was too late to recover,

you swam through the sheets.

tired of trying,

waking up alone,

sweaty palms and empty arms,

to hold me home.

the paradox of our story.

i needed to be touched so badly

it hurt.

it haunts the memory,

of you of me.

upon waking:

the tucks came undone

without unraveling the bond,

the pillows lie motionless

abused,

in the floor.

they heard me

slump over quietly in the night,

beside your body,

lying open with unclenched

hands.

offering

the silent sobriety

of wasted efforts.

I didn’t know you moved

and then tenderly found

the saving grace of

two arms

wrapped around.

[whitesheetsforwine]

put a little glamour in the act?

remember the broken places like memories and keepsakes 

for present stabilities.

in mind increasing capacity for creativity, released into the veins of a broken society.

a world of apes into 

not-quite-yet-men.

colorless integration paired with a 

Fatherless generation.

always having to pick sides,

with Ma up north and Pa down south.

ain’t no love between the pair.

but they keep down the nine-to-five.

so, who care? 

it’s a miserable existence,

that is

baggy eyes and headlines.

sleep is for the weak they say,

but it’s all lies. 

imma hypocrite

but i got deadlines.

boss man won’t let me speak,

wife won’t keep me if i’m weak.

worn out pillows hear me weep, 

elude the morning,

keep the sheets. 

but yesterday was okay.

what happened to that?

the pink skies and cherry lemonades 

turned to Daniel’s 

ina bottle.

pills on the dresser keep me on my feet for 

the ‘morrow.

imma beatnik 

like Roman candles

Jack had pixie dust in his feet.

the earth engulfs the small

what happened to the meek?

[loveandmyconsecratedwhispers]

You're not heavy, you're my brother?

Stenchly present you pace, Shakely hands porcelain espresso. Bro, bro, you feel me, bro? Instantly our future is limbowed, Shot across time and distance. Two girls who don’t say bro, maybe? They do have a bother, tho. Necessarily present of today, You cannot help yourself. Gorilla palms that know blood, Can’t take a wall when you see fleshly freshly tempting your temper. Blondely, petitely, blue-eyedly, I admit my fear of you. Verbally it falls to the glass between you and me. Expressionless, empty, You feel me bro?

[loveandmyconsecratedwhispers]

a short response

I’ve grown bars holding stingy lies of pretty silver tongued vowels. I’m bought time, flapping bill-ows in the windowpane. flapping up, singing out on a wind of pain. Privilege came to you, blue eyes taught you, Broken, Boundful, Redeeming Love. Yes, they Are blonde, Feathers fought for freedom. Because I’m too many nights crying, I’m too many knees worn, tearing down the conception like a dress in a mirrored image. Stretching over the curves, swallowing the mouth up with kisses. Like every sin committed under shots of spirits and mineral water. It is for fools. It is foolish. I am not foolishness. But only not for *you. I’ve been told I’m pretty by drunk men, I’ve been pretty drunk by good men. Countertop beer stains. These bars know my real name. I render my stitches, that know from where I fall. Freedom for fought feathers. And tomorrow will be a haze, Tomorrow and the next day, I’ll be remembered without warning. Down the street and across the way. From where have I been running for so long, and why does it feel like failing?

[loveandmyconsecratedwhispers]

What happened last night?

Friday night mascara looks like midnight magic and shooting stars. Because it means two to five hours of extra sleep, more time to talk, more wine. Red wine, too much and much laughter. Perhaps there will be less mindless, Repetitive inhale, inhale. Try to breathe less. You look like the perfect moon. Try for me less. Let’s fuck. this. Let’s never share secrets again. Let’s have no secrets to share again. I was used to being used. I was broken to be broke. I am not cold. I am not weak. No, I don’t really want to tell you I’m embarrassed. I’ll tell him when I work tomorrow. I’ll probably be wearing less shadow on my eyes. No, I don’t need you to ask me. I’m not [that] gone.