moody

© Kris Rodammer

envy

copyright Chip Bulgin 2011

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

envy is that bony creature
so malnourished and malicious
she might blow away in the wind
like thin bodies
tangled together
but to weak
to unknot themselves

2000

defense

sit on the bench
waiting for the fight to come my way
reason soothes my nerves
but I am always defensive
always have to explain my life and choices
or at least my loyalty to them

wait a moment
what is my obligation to make others understand
where do I fit into this picture
that they have framed
it should be mine
that I concern myself with
not the offense of another
not waiting for the attack
already long gone

drive on

© S Billups


this road is engulfed in mist
so dense I may have to pull over for a while
face the fear of defenselessness
and have to make peace
with the consequences
I stay calm and check the mirrors
already planning escape
should the road suddenly vanish
I realize it was gone
miles ago
and I’ve been grinding the gears over gravel
too much damage
for the mechanic to fix
in the short time I have left
carry on
watch the mist come and go
sometimes I see the horizon, so far away

breathe

sometimes I can't stop worrying


inside I ache for you
my bones are hollow in your absence
I left the space we had carved out
of flesh and stone
for each other
and you followed shortly after
I regret the choice to leave
but sometimes
even when I make a choice
I feel I have none
hands are tied now
bound until you
turn your attention to me again
inside I can’t help but wonder if

fill the space between the lines
finish the song
interject chaos into silence

sometimes my momentum
takes over the sacred moments
the quiet that heals
and the solitude that brings
meaning to the moments
I have yet to process

step back
observe
learn not to be so greedy with time
snatching more into these dirty hands
if only because I fear
the day there is nothing in my grip

wait a moment
be still and silent
conquer expectations and
revise plans
the best is yet to come

fear

rot in silence
you know when the ghosts creep upon you
and you won’t help yourself escape
I wonder if it will always
take such a toll
turn empathy to apathy
and corrode my will to do anything
but ferment these nasty thoughts
in memories of mistakes

there have been so many beautiful moments
if only I could let them
fill the space in which this
terror now lives
seething and scratching
like nails ripping the already bruised flesh
why am I stuck in this wretched place
instead of allowing
the sunset over the desert
rain and shine in Dublin
the tenderness of a soft touch
the fever of climax
or the taste of his kiss
take over my thoughts

sometimes I fear I am scheduled
to take the hardest path I can find
deliberately choose pain
over pleasure
I might live a beautiful life
full of loving friends
and I’d live it with sadness and apprehension
sometimes I don’t fear it
so much as know it

Madness

everything rolls, undulating ocean of moments
they seem unconnected but are
really tied to a picture
I'm not big enough to see
can't keep track of the madness
in each moment I am composed
but inside, reeling

be careful what you wish for
how damaging it can be
nails sink into flesh
trying to control the outcome
but chaos always wins

to see myself so differently
those placid eyes caught in momentary sanity
I know how to play the part
keep the boat from rocking
and put one foot in front of the other



Image from Joe Rooney

gray days when the rain is relentless
but you know the seeds are taking root
under the skin of the earth
translucent, bare shoulders
a glittering trail of water over the milky exterior
emptiness is the blanket cloaking me
not warm or comforting
but a silhouette against your hide
cover the soft noises with soil
fresh from the soaked ground
charcoal tracings over the blue veins
and the deeper afflictions
thin mental on the red flower blooming from my wrist
there is nothing beautiful a scream cannot disguise
and in your voice an urgent red seeps forward
drips into everything gray about today
seams ripped and resewn together
this tessellation, a pattern, this reminder
that every ache is less than someone else's injury
and the ground spits forth only good
and swallows the bad seeds back into itself

Spring season, 2003