The Spot

 

Dead
Blind
A zone without range
Empty
Void

We cross it each morning
Cursing and laughing
We wait
Calmly
Patiently
For life to 
Beat
    again

And it does
           Always
it does

But 
   there are 
            times
Other times

The underworld 
              Arises 
without warning

Signals disappear
Signs are misconstrued
Codes long broken become
Impenetrable

And we are 
          Lost

Until

From the left
A light
A faint
       Blue
Pulse

A dichrotic throb
As though 
         doubling
Might make the difference

And so it does
So 
  something
does

And the impasse
Dissolves
     Fades
         Passes
into memory

Becoming nothing 
                more 
than the shimmering penumbra
of a once
         intractable
Pain


©sdrogers 20 june 2015




 






A New Word

Oh, let me write
no more of
you

let me write
instead of 
him

his sadness
his strength
his talent
for 
shepherding
the disparate
the dissolute
the un
      invited

let me write
no more of
her

no

let me for
get you both
writhing wild 
upon the floor
the hyena stripes
of her hair throttling
us all

no

let me write
instead of 
his legs

long and lean and 
hooked
across whatever 
he holds dear
locked
around whatever
he refuses to 
lose

Thunder Forth!

yes, rain
there should be
rain
rolling like a
low-rider bass
along the avenue

but there is 
only
cloud-grey ice 
and a sliver of 
yellow

pooling in perfect 
Euclidean symmetry
along a bottom 
of temperant glass


©sdrogers 3 october 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

Pablo Would Know

How to tell you
Goodbye

Quietly
Deftly
Each word a softly
Spoken missive
A lullabye

A lull
A bye

I can only prattle

Babbling on and on
Searching
As always
As ever
For the word
For the
       One
Word

That will make
Everything
What it is
          Not


©sdrogers 4 march 2014