I have stacks of your sighs in my dresser.

I scooped each one from a puddle in my pillow as

Your breath crept into the fabric, slow

-fog low over a sleepy lake-

and in the greying-pink light of dawn

-a yawn and a stretch of the sun’s whispy fragile fingers-

your smell lingered, dew drops left wet on my early morning lips.

and with the first timid breath of what is to-day! ,

the night slipping silvery from clouded lungs,

I wake to

-inhale, scent of sleep and dream-sweat and rested blanket bodies-

one shimmering sigh

where the moon

kissed

your left cheek.

-ck

I do not always write about love,

sometimes

cemeteries

or

birds

or on occasion even

my mother

and

things like

the ocean

but

       (shrug)

where is

love not?

-ck

The day after

The night

my lungs rose high beside a blushing moon

flushed cheeks and

a lake of diamonds

          (Blood diamonds)

The night

I gave my open hands to the breeze

and let the cliff promise me

what filled them was enough.

The night

a howl pressed its heavy hips into the back of my tongue

To mail my voice to the sky

To be torn open by the clouds eager hands

To fill this black, sparkling landscape with raw

sound.

The fire burned low to a tame and

docile beast.

Tipsy toes

curled about the edge of a rock

I have always been weary to conquer.

The day after

The night

I found my soul sitting on the bank

lifting diamonds from the moon,

I awoke

my crusty eyes swaying soft beside you

And

My heart

whispering

“this is the rhythm

to which I have always

beat.”

                  It is such a time since I

With you

       Struggled ( in the absense from which

dark and tan-

gled muscles cry)

                  It is life that i

With you

      Titled: ( broken lip skin

poet-

ry

two and one bed)

                 It is much narrow the river I

With you

       Crossed ( in the sun’s death and

fiery pass- ing

-ionate prayers)

                      Oh Father,

I ask of your breath bless the sleepy hearts

In those caverns of

                    limp piti-

ful

souls, for whom will never

With you

Be.

-ck

I was born into the pages of a story,

letters cradled my soft back,

stacked my fragile spine

I came to be with words in my heart.

and if I could

write my way around the world

7 million pages or more

if i could

build a tower of my own books

to the sky

and shout down my poems to you from the heavens

if I could

cure sickness

with a few whispered syllables

never

in my 

grand, beautiful life

without placing your hand in my heart and letting you catch the words that flow through my body,

keeping my alive,

moving me,

without splitting myself open and letting you see the alphabet pulsing there in my veins,

could I ever

relay to you

that it is poetry not blood that courses through this body! I am electrified by  phrases and descriptions and every night I sit here and I bleed and I bleed and I bleed for you all and for me and I have never been more happy to let myself die each night.

as long as I awake the next day with more blood to spill from my fingertips,

I will die each and every day.

.

I was watered by waves from the tip of a pencil,

nourished by descriptions of sunlight,

I came to be with words in my heart.

and I will spend the rest of this

grand, beautiful life

letting them take me away.

-ck

Today I found one of your hairs in my shower.

on those walls

of Van Gogh

Matisse

many a masterpiece has laid a tired hand

there.

but that strand I held it to the light

cried

never have these bland speckled tiles!

been so beautiful

magnificently decorated.

Mona, Mona

you should see

what I have here

between my fingers.

-ck

Time is a lap behind

                Mother told me kindness

                Is a weapon.

                It must be.

I haven’t touched your face

                                                                     in years.

My skin is made of broken words and piano keys

And when you laid down on my pillow

I winced at the bits of songs and poetry

I’d left there.

I had no drink to offer you

No soft thing for you to touch

The silence clung to us

scratchy sweater on sweaty skin

You touched me in those places

said

I think when I die

I will dream forever

And it will be a lot like living again.

-ck

Yes, wind

I remember reaching for your heartbeat today.

I remember because I felt you in my chest

you said

I’m just passing through

here

you said

da dum da dum

and in your speed and your urgency I truly believed

that the creature who rattled this ribcage

was mine.

But these bones they shake and tremble

and they lie down at your command.

.

So yes, angel

I do remember kissing your hand today

I remember because I felt your breath upon my temple.

you said

I will be here

forever

you said

da dum da dum

and in your evanescence and the light shining between your teeth I truly believed

that the beast who whittled these words

was mine.

But these bones they shake and they tremble

and they lie down at your command.

.

and I will cling tight to these bedsheets

and the salt that rides the breeze

so that I may touch your hand

as you flee from mine.

-ck