Poetry / this is not an exit.

The trouble is brewing in the north

Smiles cryptic with resonance of

Past lullaby scripture

I hold her close to the soles of my shoes

When she deserves less attention

Than the gum sleeping there

I am not an excuse for this behaviour

Good enough to get you through like a drug

Sedating you into a moment of pure

Ecstasy

You think the earth at your footsteps feels less

Than the mourning sky

When it rains

Vast

Her ideas continue to spread like deception into

The safely nestled barbed wire fence that I have

Constructed like piano wire curtains

Refusing to allow her safe passage into my

Esophagus again

My heart not longing for these mysterious melodies

Permeating my flesh and bone

Drum beats ever closer to sustaining my relief

Breath heavy

Anticipating

And I cannot forgive the way she quakes into my life

Like she knows me

She understands nothing

I am not the safe place for her permanent residence

She will need to find some other poor

Misbegotten soul

To covet

I wait

Hands held tightly behind my back allowing her

Questions to arch over me while my pedestal raps

Its arms around an already just and innocent psyche

No moments more delicate than

This

Lu-lu-lullaby

She is a mountain of contagious lies

Ever smooth with each whispered incision

Manipulated like longing clay to breast bone

Clarity

Sculpting my heart heavier than it once was

Having to contend with her emotions

When I do not want this.

Back away.

Let go.

Leave me in peace.
or pieces.

Whichever is more likely to force her to hear

That I am not your safe passage.

I am a better woman for walking away.

My soul requires more beauty

More explanation than this

I don't expect any Eden filled appetite

To show me the way

Each iris glazed over with contemplation

And mine, with condemnation

Because she is damned to this

Life

Like I have been damned to mine

she would take of my spine if I allowed her

A taste

Instead of referring to the chemical release that

Fingerprints to my words would create

My breath faint hieroglyphs on her imagination

never meant to fuel her low down ego

-low

-down

She is far too sour for any affection afforded me

With a quiet city-like sanctuary

And the girls will holler at her window

I will walk away in a laugh wondering what tom waits

Would say in his song about us

I just smile with the transfusion of breath to soil

her friendship is like a band-aid to the sensitive flesh

Allergic to latex

I forgive the abrasions on my palms

Real vs. imagined

she will never apologize for the choices made

Games played

Or the infection you leave under the skin.

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