Two more to add to the pile...the first comes from the Poetic Asides prompt to write a "quit doing what you're doing" poem. I'm not thrilled with it. The second...just came out of nowhere. I have been tweeting random lines from poems and I tweeted this one today from Valzhyna Mort: "By now, we have sixty names for snow. It's time to come up with sixty names for darkness." So, it's going on a "darkness" theme, I guess. Call it a list poem, if you want. I suppose it is.
A message to my stubborn body
You are stealing hours from me
and making me toss and turn while
blasting me with words and twisted
REM sleep movies that leave me
sitting in front of a screen with
fingers that are unable to translate.
You knot me like dough with
everything I put in you,
leaving sustenance a persona non grata.
I wake and you twist me from the inside.
Your phantom pains in the arm I split
when I was in high school
reverberate through my shoulders,
shock the fragile system in my leg,
set my knees on fire
and comfort is impossible.
I am going to fight you until you
respond in kinder fashion.
I will refuse to accept your collect calls.
I will carry on in spite of you.
The infinite definitions for darkness
It is the razor sitting uncapped on a shelf.
It is the drawer full of knives, the car's idle.
It is the ache of bones and the will to end.
It is the grinding of teeth, the friction itself.
It is the silence between two bodies,
two rooms apart, two miles in distance.
It is the inevitable letdown.
It is the unrelenting, unforgiving clock on the wall.
It is the uncertainty of trust.
It is the twitch and the gasp.
It is every space between wake and sleep.