Run

the ache that
sears through this
delicate arch;
not a sense of pain but
a source of satisfaction:
with each step,
a gentle press on
the blood that beats
through this sole soul,
as i tap out music:
with these feet that
are my wings.

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in the sweltering rain,
i stand defiant;
a tear-bead,
cradled in the curl of an eyelash.
no salt on my lips,
only the traces of
a grazing finger:
brushed so gently
against my cheek.

in the pouring sunlight,
it was the (brackets)
of loneliness,
that kept me from
melting; becoming an
incessant puddle,
that drips from your eye

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Ice

from this pollex of frostbite
nails turn blue along the
rivers running between
pale sin that grows grey
as the hedges of burning
frost bloom;
bouquets of white crystal flowers
sparkling with the vengeance
of a deadened winter rose,
doomed to be forever enclosed
in this frozen case of
glass; that reflects the face
of the woman-child who

stares

back at me

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the angel flakes that
danced past me
gently; snow
like cotton on
fences and fields
coating the pastures
with a sheet of silk,
such a perfectly thin
white icing,
that melts on
the tongue of the breeze,
sweet and silent,
as life should be.

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.

I hate everything and myself