The Absence of Wavelength

Something On The Sleeve (MV)

What’s On These Sleeves?

Red ruins, left to stain
Where I balance my little friend,
A mute parrot vocalizing, singing
For your interest on a satin cuff.

I sought a dry cleaner
after I upset my tailor.
What do I know about these things —
How to treat garments?

Cartilage worn down
from years anchoring
Worn denim on any ground,
Greeted only by your frown.

Grass stains treated, go away
Finally, when the fabric frays.
A boy in short pants dares
Scrape the tender, bruised skin.

Colors that paint glowing nature —
Dull, stark reminders in a wash.
Fluorescence buzzes in solitude
As poorly matched blends wash.

Pink as my tender flesh, mistreated
Coverings emerge, further shrink
The soggy lot in a hot drum spinning,
Loft, drop, lift fall like the rotting heart.

Mistreated? Yes, I know.
Don’t blame you, but me.
A boy wandering, could wonder
Why dress like your clown?

coda...not really ▼

Why dress like a ragged pauper?
Why juggle the bloody, exposed truth
That I desired to coax green spark
From two jade gems, your solid cloak.

Claw open the left clavicle
And shove, cram, sink in
My sleeve-jockey, lonesome friend.
Thick staple tight that door tight.

No longer shudder in a cold world
We could not forge. Swim
In warm, blood tank, little fishie.
Enjoy safety of dark, forever more.

I hurt a thing that sang sweet,
That dreamed right, got lost
Wandering in those moonless nights.
Shuttered, can’t hurt anyone anymore.

The monster, still throbbing,
Betrayed by me, in a hole sequestered.
We stash the things we love
In a concealed chest of gold and sentimentality.

Not like your emerald, blue Safire,
This clear blood diamond, stolen.

4.28.23

Not bitter. Cautious, since 2006.
Tired of me, lame excuses, and insane need (culling) to be even more open.
I gave what I can, but can’t get off the donor list of vampires.
Open a coffin, I hop right in. Still no stake, just garlic and a taste of Holy water.