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


Perpetuity

I am not
        Wife
I am not
        Mistress
I am something
              Other
entirely.

I am the design
for which you
searched
so long, so far.

Until finding, 
you lay me cold
in the hands of
a stranger
stretched out in 
his chair
and closed your eyes
against light that never
dims.

I am the blue
that dripped into your
blood
becoming One.

Until now, 
there is nothing to
cleave.
Wherever you cut
wherever you break
the blue of me 
bleeds.

I am the pain
each pierce of the
needle
just deep enough
(a little deeper)
each puncture shooting
me through.

Until at last, 
I dissolve into the
ragged breath 
rising
from your wounded
heart.

I am the beauty
the enigmatic beauty
that can neither be
hidden 
      nor
erased

the inexplicable beauty
of which you shall
never
     be
free

No
not even 
in the
      grave.

©sdrogers 23 march 2014

Camera Obscura

atop the stony bank
the call of the sea fell
cold about her

there was no horizon

blue swelled around and
above ’til the black
breaks of her eyes
faded
and were lost

If you had memories
Would this be easier

If you had
the burnished vambrance of my smile
the luculent echo of my sigh
the sleepless herald of my voice
calling your name

If you had
not
replaced me
with shades
with shadows
with ghosts
too fine to be true
too fantastic to be real

Would this be easier

Or is the
forgetting
all that allows
you

to

a gull dipped
dripping silver white
across what might
have been the sky

she pulled the light
tight around her
bowed
and was gone

©sdrogers 2 march 2014

Areel

Closeup.

There was a
chance,
a very real
chance,
that he might
disappear
completely
into her eyes.

Take.

What would that
be,
to disappear
completely
into such a darkness.
What would that
take
from him
What would that
give.

Low-angle.
Extreme.

Without label
Without title
Without purpose
beyond keeping the
light
always
just where she might
find it,
just where she might
tilt her head
just so
just where
she might never be
cold
again.

Cross-cutting
no more.

No more
bits
of life strewn
across another
floor,
no more
edits
no more
jumps
no more
wipes.

Just the
Iris-in
of silence.
And the
Dissolve
of life
as it was
meant
to be lived.

©sdrogers 10 february 2014

Plumbing

the bottle
tips
over
empty
always
so empty

a splash of
Jack
upon the glass
and all reflection
is
lost

Prompt me
Prompt me
Prompt me

You
do not understand
do you
my love of William
my Love
of William

Still
you must remember
a filtered lens for me
always
a filtered lens
shoot me blue
perhaps
blue
yes, blue

Yes
I am lost

once
I knew them
all of them
thirty-seven
chrono

logical

ly

now
I despair

yesterday
watching
I heard Hamlet
whine
a Skywalker
whine
in iambic pentameter
ad nauseum
ad infinitum

Broadway – v- Hollywood
a match that meant
so much
at one time
at one time

runs of laughter
down labyrinthine ways
have left me
shaken
and
empty

lying on my back
spoiled child that I am
a coward
a drunk
sun purring above
as they stash me
away

pressure of a pen
on my riven heart
while memory screens
the ghost of you
upon a page

your voice alive again
in the hashmarks and crosshairs
of E

nun

ci

a

tion

there lie
I

shrouded in Absinthe
all faerie green and silver sugar

nothing is as
dead
as I shall be
when lights unnamed
are finally dimmed
and the last and best
of the wormwood curtains
are finally struck
down

©sdrogers 1 february 2014

And I Would Read

to you
in bed
at night

surrounded by
pillows,
afloat in plush

but for the
side
by you

there you
lie
pressed against

my opening

there you
pulse
firm and hot,

your smiling
head
flat atop a thin

white plane

Tonight?
Tonight is… let’s see…
Salinger

Yes, tonight is
Salinger.  Jerry.
No, not Catcher

but the Glasses
Franny.  Zooey.
not Seymour

Seymour is sad
and tonight is
not for sadness

So lie there, darling

Close your
eyes
while I try

to manage
Franny
whispering the

Jesus prayer,
Franny
running on

forever
for ever and
ever between

delight and despair.

 

©sdrogers 27 september 2013

The High Priestess

she plays a game of
Patience
with tiny tarot
cards

worn wax figures
slip
silent from her
fingers

Queens and Kings
and sexless Pages
mark the years
mark the ages

a childhood Tower
a youth of Cups
a Pentacl’d life of
Death and Swords
Fools and Knights

always Knights

bearing changes
fortune hope
feeling word

with a breath, she presses
back the marbled table
clean and cold and
stares
unblinking at the cutting
cards

she is ageless old

at her feet (in socks)
the auburn cat
curled and coiled

she bends to
stroke
the muscled
fur

You are so spoiled. 

he groans against her
hand
considers rising, decides
against

Lazy Lion…

her voice alone
defies
all age, for it was never
young

now its curves and
crackles
match the wilding
white
cascading from her
head

there are no more
apostles
no penitents, no
petitioners

to disturb the hush
of waves
to disrupt the rush
of sun

Just us.

she lifts him from the
floor
sets him atop the
cards
and lowers to
look
into his amber
eyes

Couldn’t you have waited?
Couldn’t you have found another way?

he makes no
reply
only stretches his
bulk
across the cards
to cool his lush
belly
‘gainst the broken tiles

she laughs

and the sound is
air and water
earth and fire
and the

              space

behind it all

 

©sdrogers 25 august 2013