Sitting with the Dead

Pain hangs
an unwelcome 
guest at the
edges of celebration

through lash spikes
I follow him
curled and quiet
on a pongee wave

silent reminder
that his power 
here is 
        no 
            more

She lies
an unbroken
beauty 
head back
mouth agape
as though she is
singing

singingsingingsinging
sing
     ing

and I
still curled
still quiet
applaud

and Pain
slithers shattered
out the blackened
door


©sdrogers 5 september 2014






Stillborn

in the box
on my side
knees pulled
up

twisted just
            enough
to face the
top

because

it is
through the top
the poriform
            top
of the box
that his 
        voice
will trickle 

teasing me 
with sunlight
bathing me 
in ashes

in the box
in the dark
in the quiet
I paint the
in
  side

using what
colours
I have

blood
mixes well
          better
than you might
expect

with ash
it shines like
oils

with tears
it runs like
waters

and sweat will
bind
it almost like
gouache

in the box
I paint 
with fingers
with eyes
         closed

dried and candied
flowers
fingerprints
feathers
and 
   always

the faceless figures
that fall and float
breathless and blue
atop the wide
lemniscate 
          waves



©sdrogers 17 may 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

The Quelling

for there was a
moment
upon which we stood
when everything was
possible
and nothing was not

but it passed
as moments are wont
to do
while we blinked and squinted
into the purblind eye of
responsibility

and so
we are here
now
tattered and trembling,
not quite shattered
but almost

yes, almost

chance puddling
in blue pools
all around us

©sdrogers 27 february 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

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