Sometime Soon

i'm hoping to turn beautiful

sometime soon

waking to stretch

and all the lines of my body

make sense

and the sheets don't fight me

to sleep

tangled and unkempt

i unfurl myself.

i'm hoping to breathe deeper

sometime soon

and not choke

on the regrets lies and bones

i stored for when

the blackness wasn't

black enough

dirty and sullen

i fall prostrate.

i'm hoping to blur at the lines

sometime soon

i was always a little

sharp around the edges

black and blue

and yet you still see

through

me

ragged and fading

i call on clarity.

days into nights

i wonder

i weep

i stalk

through cobwebs

and i

don't sleep.

i run far

i drink

i listen

to static

so i

don't think.

i crawl

i stretch

i dig

through pictures

trying

to stall.

Elaine

your hands would shake

while you talked

as if they didn’t belong

to your body

moving on a will

of their own

you couldn’t get out of

bed for days

wrestling in the dark

avoiding the july sun

but the plants in the

living room were still

green and full

mocking you

in their stillness

the medicines never worked

just leaving you

anxious and bloated

leaving you turning

the pages of the bible

for relief that never came

i would stare

at my own raw hands

at the tearstains

on my shoes

my bloodshot eyes

and unwashed hair

wondering what

help i could possibly

give to you

that i didn’t require

myself

i tossed and turned

in the sheets

i sank and sweltered

in the covers

i breathed too fast

and moved too slow

my fingernails

disappeared again and

i wondered

how long before

my hands started

shaking like that.

Lost Elegy

a week after you died i wrote you into a poem
sitting in a room full of unfamiliar faces
choking on grief and words filling my head
i could hear you talking, smooth and sweet and heavy,
somewhere deep in mixed memories of warm nights
and loud music caged in hazardous caverns of back mind thought
yet you creeped up sounding loud from the small of my back,
lodging in the arch of my neck for a moment
and then rushing through along my cheekbones—
your sound lighting my face and then fading.
i wanted to shed my skin
to make the buzzing stop,
to run away

from the sound of you
from the child in your face that would never smile like that again
dying in that room as your sightsound possessed my veins
taking my oxygen, stealing my blood—red thick and hungry.
i had no other choice in the middle of a discussion
of the women of Juarez--older ghosts unlike you
i frantically ripped out a page and tattooed you on its lines
thinking maybe then i wouldn’t have to think
of those last moments filled with fire, loneliness, and the radio
fading out—tears and no goodbyes to anyone but the sky
maybe i wouldn’t have to remember
how your voice infused my body with light and sugar
when you whispered in my ear
thinking maybe i wouldn’t have to lie awake
at night wondering why existence is really only a fatal road trip.
sitting at that desk i wanted to cry,
baptize the pages with my own river of life
make up for the destruction of yours--empty riverbed.
my pen flamed across the page, darting and drawing you
in letters and pauses
i finished brow furrowed and tear strained tired
i shoved you in a notebook not wanting to look at you there on the page,
not wanting you to scar me any longer or deeper
a week later i went to look at you,
read the poem on some fatalistic therapeutic urge
and you were gone—more than forever this time
i tore through my notebook my room my clothes
thinking i could not survive without that piece of paper
and now you were gone, the only remnants i had left
lost on some ragged street,
thrown in some solitary garbage can,
found in the hands of a stranger
how easily you were lost,
i tried to rewrite you
struggling through teary sight and trembling hands,
but it was never as perfect as the first one
i couldn’t get your smile right
or the tone of your voice
or the way you walked
or the words you spoke
i tried so hard but you never came through that clear again,
despite the numerous attempts I have made
to write your face to face you
i hope some stranger found my lost poem
written in pure feeling and electric light
and it burns his palms as he reads it
for one moment he sees you there
in the words and the spaces and the light.
he sees you through my veins and wonders
where the beautiful boy has gone
as he tries to shake my sadness—EAC

Burning Beds

black entanglement over terracotta cracks
you stretch and writhe
you suffer and break
the column collapses
the hot tears blanket canvas
the metal corset traps and holds
speak to me with your eyes

woman so weary

spread your unbroken wings

fly free as the swallow sings

come to the fireworks

see the dark lady smile she burns

la pelona laughs and draws dark lines
across your brow
even without feet
you traverse the split land
on wings of alegria
combust into the earth
your painted ashes
dotting the night sky

but the night sky blooms with fire

and the burning bed floats higher

and she’s free to fly

dreamscapes that form thoughts
in your mind
fill the beds of the earth
on which you lie
light your judas on fire
set yourself free
la bailarina covered in gold ash

y la noche que se incendia

y la cama que se eleva

a volar

**this is a work in progress....***

brief update of sorts

despite all the things that have been happening in my life recently, i have finally found my way back to art. for almost a year, i have not written anything. i couldn't look at a piece of paper, yet alone touch it for fear of what would happen if i began to write. i imagined myself writing that first word, and then breaking down in convulsive sobs, only to have some poor, innocent person find me lying on the bathroom floor in the fetal position with my thumb in my mouth. it was out of fear of what emotions would bubble forth (perhaps ones from which i would not recover) that i stayed away from the thing i love the most.
lately, i have been writing and drawing (yes, i actually have some skill) which has been quite therapeutic for me. therefore, keep an eye out, because i plan on posting some of my "art" on here as well as some new poems/writing samples. try not to be overwhelmed in your excitement.

fell asleep with the pen
clenched between my fingers
again last night
the rapid flutter of drug heavy honey eyelashes
and I lost the ability to evacuate
these swarm of bee thoughts
clamoring at my honeyhive
unconsciousness drowned the persistent droning
still I slept with my hand spread
across the page
grasping its smooth finish
like a mason jar half full
my callus broken hands
covering viscous words
still thinking they could
drag me back to inspiration
unyielding
before the beekeeper returned to check
the safety of his buzzing teeming minions.--EAC

A Bird in the Hand

Today a bird flew into a window while I was a work. I found it laying on the ground gasping for air and immobile. I picked it up and gently placed it in the palm of my hand. I ran my fingers over the soft feathers of his chest, willing life back into his almost-still body. I tried to place him on his tiny, two feet, but he fell over onto his side and silently opened and closed his beak in protest. I was overwhelmed with sadness. I set him on the table, on his side, watching him, praying for him not to die. I rubbed his back with my index finger, hoping that a little love would bring him to his feet again. Minutes later, he hopped up on his two feet, but still refused to move off of the table. He sat with his eyes closed, breathing rapidly. I took drops of water from a cup and let them fall into his open mouth. Recover. Recover. Recover. Finally, he found the strength to fly away.



Recover. Recover. Recover.