August 2012



Reclamation
Nothing Good Can Come of This
Waterproof Dream
Casualties
Ephemerides

My Arms Around your Todays
Blood Music
Morning Yarn
Rock & Roll
We All Crave Our Flame

Reclamation

Instilled in me
you fall from each breath
some fragment of each cell I shed
the beads that slither from me
to join the heave of your breasts,
exchanging
steam - condensed
evaporation to the light…
the storms in your eyes
that rivet my gaze
the grips upon my skin
as your tears fall
in tempest in passion
reclaimed
as your breath refills my blood.

Nothing Good Can Come of This

Congealed vanilla draped the sky
a runny yellow pudding
pale and weak.
I’ve never set well with a morning like this.

There is something disconcerting
that wants to crawl out from under,
something tapioca,
oozing,
writhing with a mucous-like slime.
okay I exaggerate,
but nothing good can come of this.

this is a morning for snails,
for armadillo trails,
a morning for surrender
nothing good can come of this.

Nothing will help you
no tequila
no ChillYouOut pill
no toke left in the bowl
just covers
common sense
and the promises kept by the rain.

Waterproof Dream

Off of a pallet of blues
flame crossed into night
first ivory and hopeful
then filled with harvest
glowing…
someone’s faith captured
caught in dying amber,
a marigold… trapped
in a sea of lapis
rimmed in aquamarine.

I hold you like that…
a promise of light,
a glimmer that might coat me
in iridescent armor,
a pastel salve,
a harbor of solace,
my layers of waterproof dream
in arms of never again.

Nacreous Cloud - Oliver Lemke

 

Casualties

I don’t want us
causalities
wounded
victims of premise
ever pregnant

I don’t want us
a truth
left squandered on opposite sands
a victory lost in its poverty.

I don’t want us
splashed and tumbled
churned and crumbled
into the spice of evening dishes
into the lonely blue of a mourning sea.

I don’t want us
in a purgatory of touch
no desire left to gnaw
all flame of our heart’s bright dream
bled out on the altar of need.

 

Ephemerides

I’ll soon be back with you,
my mother, my sea,
my tongue of so many moods and words,
my solace, my salve, my valve,
the poultice I lay upon my bruised spirit.

Soon we will mesh in scent and step,
your sands ensnaring, pleading,
mindlessly pulling at my feet.
My skin salty with your brine,
hungry for your dark eternal tongues.

Azenhas do Mar, © M. Breit, 2012

 

My Arms Around your Todays

I know the sallow light
that creeps upon your sill
the doubts that crawl your alleys
the loneliness
that heckles your routine
that stalks any weakness
in your veins.

Were I in your arms
I’m not sure you’d lose the chill
though I am quite a furnace
a salve that might seal you
soften the scars
call off the wolves
that distant howls of regret in your ears

I know the questions that peck
at your heart in the night
the sourness left at your door come the dawn.
I’ve no panacea,
Just the blanket of these tomorrows
my arms around your todays.