Exile

Think not the king did banish thee,
But thou the king.
       --The Life and Death of Richard the Second
         Act I, Scene 3
         William Shakespeare


the old weighs
upon me
 
blue moon
light falls
too fast
too often
its shadows
show
too much

the cast is
pall
the fall is
all
and the strand
by which I stand
still
before you frays
and fells me
altogether

the poor 
are ever marked
and the fat man's 
day is done


©sdrogers 5 october 2014


The Clone Wars

Your laughter
             rings
me
like chimes against 
the moon.

The breath of you
                 lifts
me 
up and out and beyond

         into

where
there is
only light
where
there is
only love

where
all the
      demons
            disappear
forever.


©sdrogers 12 june 2014


Recuse

you will never know
the touch of my cool hand 
on your fevered cheek

you will never know
the press of my soft hips
against your hard belly

you will never know
the salt of my tears
on your hungry tongue

you will never know
the strength of my fingers
knotted fast into yours

you will never know
the reflection of your truest self
from the black mirrors of my eyes

she whispered
these things
lying on her side
curled like a fist 
around a cobra

he did not hear
full as he was
of other voices

he did not care
empty as he was
of all their
            dreams


©sdrogers 30 march 2014


Hematoma

at times

for a time
there are no
symptoms
at all

at times

for a time
no one 
would know the
ferocity
of the blow

no one
would guess the
profundity
of the wound

blood filling
as it does
every available
em
of body
of soul

at times

for a time
evacuation
becomes 
necessary

when the silence
expands 
beyond all boundaries
over all walls
despite the very best 
intentions

then

the site is
lanced
the pressure
reduced

in a sudden
stanchless torrent
in a thick 
and steaming roux
of salt and gore 

and there is
breath
       again
for a time

at times

©sdrogers 4 march 2014

Breadcrumbs

feathered stars
scattered silver

veins
across an indogen
palantir

she speaks
much
these nights
of her father

recalls

the unbottomed
black
of his eyes
the catholic
cry
of his laughter

in these
reckonings
lie clues

this
the man
knows

he knows
yes
he knows
yet
still cannot
follow

for
the ways
her ways
so steep
so slick
so shallow

dissolve

at even the
fancy
of touch

so he
reads

and reads
and reads
again

watching the words
roll and fall

cold mercury
fading
from her lips

©sdrogers 25 february 2014

Lassitude

Everyone is
beautiful at
20

aren’t they?

The first time I heard her
she was already middle aged

she walked in on his back
standing dirty in the doorway
a limewhite aura fuzzled
pink around his head

I’d like to hear you sing

and so would you
you say
but you don’t know
you don’t know
you don’t know
do you

what I mean
when I say
H A R M O N Y

an intensely personal narrative

my life
my words

there is no
culling
one from the other

an intensely boring personal narrative

which I write
in funky impossible
jazz shapes
which no one can
manage
to format
CORRECT

ly

hangtime
hangtime
there is no more
hangtime

and perhaps
I
am to be the one
who calls drunk
and not
the receiver

never
the receiver

my tongue curls
at the high notes
my dimples sink
at the memory

at the memory
at the memory
at

all

the memories

the crinkly satin
of what I almost
did not wear,
the curl
of his fingers
deep inside

and all of it all of it all of it
R E A L

as real as Tony Bennet’s
toupee

©sdrogers 20 february 2014

Her Husband and His Wife

They are
At Dinner.

It is something they
Do
often.  Since they
are only
two.

His mind,
splintered
as always,
sprints and rushes,
always and never
with her.

Her mind,
burdened
as always,
frets and grates,
always and never
with him.

And here is where
I
am used to say,
while she… and she…
yes, She

But not tonight.
No, not tonight

Tonight is only
they
At Dinner.
Safe.  Content.

Comfortable
in lawfully ringed
bonds that no

one

will ever
break.

 

©sdrogers 20 february 2014