The Drunk Poetry Hoard

I am a dragon who used to drink. This is my drunk hoard.

1.

I did not wake this morning

Only to have my heart tossed

By a tempest that screams your name

I did not wake this morning

My ears ringing with the words of your love

To have them deafened

And deadened

Under miles and miles of water

A full. Fathom. Five.

Beneath the waves you have tossed me into

I woke this morning to feel myself breathe

And expand

And move through this full world

I woke this morning to feel myself filled

To fill myself

I woke this morning only to have a new hole

Drilled into me

The owl sings to me in the dimness of the twilit dawn

It wakes this morning to remind me of the predator

That sleeps in my chest

It wakes this morning on silent wings

Sweeping over my expansive heart

It takes the morning with its silent wings

It pulls me towards the light with its echoing question

Who

Who

Who?

I have no answer.

I am the sole culprit for my sorrow

Mea culpa.

2.

How much light will I continue to shed upon unpolished mirrors

Before my reflection begs me to cease?

How many wicks will burn my finger tips

Before my hand begs me to cease?

I am spelunking in a mirrored cave

I am the only thing reflected back

3.

Something about sitting in the dark

Stirs my mind to thoughts of them

Do they lie in the dark?

Ensconced in purple-black velvet

Rib cages bared and flared

Constellations of freckles roam across their flanks

Who lies beside them?

Mouth open and filled with the down of night

Tongues roam cross the backs of straight teeth

Who do they touch?

In the small, smitten hours

When the sun lies on its back

And starlight pricks holes in the lobes of the sky

Are their minds stirred towards me in the dark?

My speckled flesh pressed against fresh sheets

My hair oiled by the sheen of sleep

Do I stand in the corners of their minds?

As they do in mine

With eyes that reflect my own

Hungry mouths begging to be filled

With the tongue-memory of my name

4.

How many belt notches has my name carved?

The windless rustle of my name shearing into supple leather

Curving its way into the hide of yet another man’s chest

I hiss in their lungs

My tongue, crisp with wine, bleats for respite

None hear

I am yet another notch

I am one pair of eyes that sear but leave no mark

I am the healed wound

Thinking I am deep enough to scar

Skin smooth and fresh lies in my wake

I deceive myself yet again

I am but a notch

A notch

5.

I only buy big umbrellas

That keep everyone safe

Dry and without drops on their shoulders

Big umbrellas to keep everyone dry

Nothing left under the dove colored sky

Everyone can stand without shoulders pressed

But maybe I should buy small umbrellas

Then we would feel warmth

We would feel the shoulders

Feel hands grip the handle

All of us gripping the handle

Maybe a shoulder or two

Left to catch the drip

Drip drip

But we are warm

Big umbrellas are safe

Maybe I should only buy big umbrellas

6.

The scent of a shadow lingers

Thick as oil on the olfactory nerve

Caked to the synapses

A thick crust of memory

Bound up in all the hairs of the nose

Fire away

Deep into the priests-hole where all unholy memories go to putrefy

Bubbling unbidden up to the slick surface

Pressing my nose into his chest

Chanting the words

Safe

Safe

Safe

As I breathed in the fumes that he cloaked himself in

It’s no wonder I didn’t see him

7.

It was so easy to allow my voice to exist outside my body

Now everyday it winds its roots deeper into a fleshy soul

I did not even know was fertile enough to bring forth such a sound

Earth and fire mingle in the sounds that escape me now

A vein of water

8.

The indefinite you that could be anyone

And anywhere in the gummy batter

The aimless you that wanders in and out of the light

Memories of you are like spearing fish

I sharpen myself and hurl myself towards you

Only to be stuck again in a mixture that has too much flour

The thought of adding water is repellent

I have a mealy mass that squats on the floured counter

My hand might slip

And make it into soup and then where would I be

Again

Looking to add more flour

Sacrificing grain after grain to the mill

Until there is nothing else to be plucked during the harvest

Barren stalks that bend to a passing wind

9.

To have watched you grow from lithe limbed youth

Into a body limned with the golden gilt of womanhood

Has been the greatest gift

To have watched those eyes sharpen

And your tongue loosen

Hurling incantations into a world

More inclined to burn you

Than be healed by the magic inherent in you

To watch you continue to sing, sometimes in spite

Has been the greatest joy

10.

The sky is stitched with yellow thread

And night splits the seams to bleed across the azure firmament

Staining the great expanse inky to then be pierced by starlight

I hold those blue memories when the lake was hazy in our eyes

Our voices quiet and mouths filled with soft cheese