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Heron Clan Feb 25, 2024 sweet Talker Speaks
Sweet Talker
He calls me baby,
And gets down on his knees before me.
He calls me honey,
And lays his head upon my stomach.
Then he speaks.
He speaks so sweet
I feel the bones
Disappear
Inch by inch.
He speaks, and
The fibers that hold my life
Un-skein,
Thread by thread,
From the hold around my heart.
He speaks,
So sweet,
The things that he feels,
Things that he sees.
He pulls me to him.
We lie in the sticky intertwine of
Lover’s arms and legs,
Coiled.
Then he speaks.
He speaks so sweet
I feel my legs
Uncurl
Without moving.
He speaks, and
Removes the nerves
Worry by worry
From my limbs.
Folded in around him
I feel his voice
Resonate,
When he speaks,
So sweet,
The things that he sees,
The things that he feels.
And he calls me baby,
And lays his head upon my stomach.
Crystal Tornado
Into pavement,
Like glass smashing.
Onto concrete,
Like windows crashing.
The pull to the chest,
Of the heart breaking.
Like a crystal tornado
Wrapped up in your veins,
Tearing it out
With each swirl of the winds,
That carried you off,
At the begins.
Onto the ground,
Like tossed carcass.
Hands over head,
Like a curled ball.
Contain the storm,
That lashed out of bounds.
Heels to ass
Elbows to knees
The smaller the target
The less there will be
Shards of the tornado
Destroying the soul.
Bricks of Concrete: August 13, 1961 Memories of the Berlin Wall
Bricks of Concrete: August 13, 1961
Memories of the Berlin Wall
Isolated in a sea of concrete, that
Are crushed to mold barriers to light,
Guns bear down on that summer day,
That grey summer day with sweaters on.
Cold, and separated, fear, and confused,
She’s pressed up against chain link fences
Of great height.
Tank barricades and midnight alerts,
Fears of the orphaned lives.
Small child lost in a crush of crowds,
“Why are there guns, Daddy?”
“Why are the people crying, Mommy?”
As she, the child, is rushed against the
Fence of chain.
“They want to take your freedom, Daughter,”
“Surrounding you with industrial brick.”
Crushed and pillioned, of torn down buildings,
Homes of people, lost and stolen,
To make their bricks, hastened to hold them, all
In, on that cold day, grey, in August
Of the Wall.
