Cry of the Stars

spit or swallow you

are poison
burning on my tongue
threatening to scorch me
all the way down

are snakes of flame
licking every corner of my open mouth

are greedy for destruction.

the fire's easier to quell
inside,
where other tongues don't
sweep the conflagration higher,
where burning words might sting,
but only me
and only for an instant--
so i bite my mouth

shut, and swallow you.

I am the crowds and trickling cars
Humming, humming, near and far
My murmured heartbeat, strong and deep
Humming you to sleep.

I am the bones of steel and light
Humming, humming, through the night
Of sidewalks long and buildings tall
Humming you to fall.

I am the streetside's neon glow
Humming, humming, soft and low
I'm casting shadows of the day
Humming you to stay.

I am the home where you belong
Humming, humming you this song
My murmured heartbeat, strong and deep
Humming you to sleep.

Gone
I whispered,
and the fleeing wind would
rip the whisper from
my mouth until I bleed my heart
into the dust,
for rain that carves a river
in the burning sand,
for life that cries itself
to sleep at night, but rises
with the dawn.

Begin again
they asked of me,
so bury both my lungs
into the dust,
and let the crystal air inside
bring gentle breeze and sunlight
in caresses on this storm-torn land,
anew with every breath I've ever
freely drunk
of brighter skies.

Just a little more.
And I will pour my love
into the dust,
not caring if my body shrivels
when the last of water flees
from where my eyes and fingers
used to be.
Dust to dust
is how I run, but
life must rise again before
the cycle is complete.

Thomas can't
really hear the music, but
while the party dances on, it
keeps on buzzing in his chest,
like hornets searching for his heart
and shaking everything beneath
his ribs.
Thomas can't
really breathe, not the same
thick air they do, even as he
settles in this lonely couch,
forgotten stains like yellow flesh
on faded white beneath
his fingertips.
Thomas thinks that maybe
he should go back where they are,
but he's afraid
their noise would chase away his soul
and twist his body inside-out,
so Thomas never does.

Thomas wants to ask them all:
    why are you so loud, and
    how can you be sure that
    what you're calling love
    is so,
    and in the night's dead stillness,
    have you ever felt that
    sorrow smolders in your bones,
    waiting soundlessly till it can
    burn through paper skin?
(Thomas thinks that someone, somewhere
has to have the answers)
--but when
his heart and mouth are open,
eyes and ears are always
closed,
so Thomas never does.

--

[written for class]