ALIVE
Poetry by Christina Borgoyn
reminisce
eyes milky with sinew,
stories caught in those
long ago spider web cataracts,
sometimes a thought, some words,
more often a phrase, image, even
a sentence or two,
one’s darling fingers,
pressure at temple brown,
focus won’t come, it was
never there, caresses
brain muscle memory,
remember, do you not yet recall?
these bones are structurally
safe and sound, how could I
forget your name as it dangles
helplessly on lips that barely
manage to move of their own accord?
teeters, totters, soft pitter-patter,
I slept against your shoulder
when grey smoky storms rolled in late
last night, woke only to find
your palm gently stroking my head,
the color as silver as an afterthought,
entangled in tendrils of coarse hair,
I do not, nor, no longer, have the mind
to ask simple things of you when
I, myself, can stare at a reflection
that I can’t recognize nor make sense of.
alive
we, ourselves, are just strands
of DNA collaborating with the sonnets
I once heart captured by the wind.
or so I’ve learned.
there’s a pattern to all that I hear.
do I dare even question if I’m still alive?
breath poses a YES,
though when my lips tremble and ache
in syllables of NO,
the ground falls away from my feet in fear,
and I’m left STRANDED
in a mire of my own conglomeration.
disintegrate
golden eyes I remember
from somewhere,
burn off through atmosphere,
each iris reminisces, horizon
fills tearducts, the removal
of poetry from these veins
without sound, the gentlest
of all fingertips, barely
break eye contact, the pupil
disintegrates any memory
sparking before the flame.
king
if only men could truly rise
from the depths they slumber in.
a very strong and willed individual
glances in a looking glass, aching
to tear such memories that haunt
the skin he is in. even when bloodshed
at time of war seems substantial,
hands with each claw sharper
than the next, doom, tears heart out,
still beating, blood still fresh, squeezes
every drop of one’s own blood flow,
open mouths that lie, watered by
sacrifice and bounty, my lust for you always burns,
the harvest learns each and every one of us,
I can only share true theories about
the marvel of man.
Then recede into depths, don’t despair,
I only know the future we are heading towards,
and it gleams a jewel in the foggy sunset.
wild ache
dull these far too old bones of mine.
I’ve sharpened the ends of my talons into claws,
tossed and turned, loneliness drapes
so cold and bitter over my heart,
piercing fleshed muscle, heavy aroma of
bloodied red meat cackles in these gizzard-jowls,
leaving skeletons of past sins to crackle in the heat.