the calm before the roarthis is scrambling out of the shower,the calm before the roar by jennedy
slick with water turning to ice,
and watching, wrapped naked in a towel,
hand against the door,
as they pull out of the garage.
and knowing you fucked up, and still blaming them.
and pulling your clothes on in a rage,
underwear, sports bra, flinging soggy hair out of your face,
pulling a t-shirt over your head and wriggling into running shorts.
this is thundering down the stairs, running to your room,
forgetting what you want, sprinting back up.
this is the bird's heart thrashing in your throat.
this is grabbing your shoes with one hand and with the other your permit,
snatching up your dad's key,
and going out to that garage they just left,
and slipping into the driver's seat.
you know dad was the last one to drive;
your toe barely taps the clutch. you're a child playing in daddy's silver car.
eyelids flutter. the key is tight and frigid.
you breathe, bird wailing.
fingers tremble on the ignition.
anythinganything anything but another dripping nightanything by jennedy
when dull slow-moving tears run gray cobwebs through pinching lashes
clarity twists behind a rippling sheet, warped through shower curtains.
there are no nails in my feet, no thorns on my brow,
but even this is false, because
god damn i don't believe in anything,
and i guess if you really think about it,
listlessness evokes the most sheer kind of wrath;
i feel no obligation to hate and love,
kill the ant and hold the baby,
this is when my vision droops to crimson,
blood runs down my sink
as the claws come out,
testing the nearest meat
for flavor, for feeling
comes like wavespoint sheathed feet toward the dunes,comes like waves by jennedy
with wind parting the yellow grass hair,
and your own runs silver like the water,
in the water,
pulling softly back,
shells curling in under your hands,
moon and stars like smiling eyes closing,
and the water closes
like a gentle book breathing dust over your face,
with its imprints of lips and teeth and faces,
and to your right the pier and the wheels and the fireworks
and under you the cusp of the great ocean, a great wheel turning.
your neck sliding in dark water
must be the most beautiful thing
drifting towards the distant forest
that lies silent under the waves
under the waves where no one else can see.
i look upon them and they harden like cruel obsidian
as you slip through and away
clear and true
your eyes would be as blue as the waves
were they open
your hair would be the silver kiss dancing over
and in my mind i fold this moment
like a love letter in palsy hands
the creases dirty and uneven
and all the more beauty for it.
cumbersomei cannot say what i need to say,cumbersome by ohsostarryeyed
there are many, many things we cannot talk about:
the military, its ploys,
its gunmetal toys;
the way a gap in the teeth
draws a crinkle like cellophane
to a face once filled
with green eyes and irish love;
the r's thrown deep into
the dirty water in which
boys with lesser sense
might find themselves;
the greenery and celtic landscape;
you in full-
i cannot talk about you
because i miss you so much my heartache has a heartache
like acid reflux burning my body
and it is just so unbearably sad
that none of this can be fixed
because in less than a week you will leave me for years
and i will be left to grow roots
in some unwanted, rubbish-filled lot in the city
that i am now afraid to enter.
pray she doesn't knowhello,
i think i scream your name
in my sleep,
because my mother keeps
asking who you are.
she looks at me with knitted brows
and a hand halfway orbiting
i think she is afraid to touch me,
and her eyes look a little funny
when she says your name-
it sounds so wrong, thick and congealed
as it spills from her tongue and
over her teeth.
i want to ask her what i've been saying-
have i been screaming?
i don't know if i should know,
but her half-painted pink fingernails
hover and tremble between us,
and i keep thinking that it is the
same for you and for me;
we are simply drowning and all of nothing
is enough in this graveyard sea.