caesura in our prosody

The Secret Nature of Women Well Hidden; and the Insufferable Male

I awoke this morning after a dream. I kept asking her if she had been with another man, she wouldn’t answer. I was angry, and then as I began to stir more, I began thinking that it didn’t matter because I still had love. There she was, kneeling next to me, lightly touching my elbow.

We talked for a while – I prefaced with the end. She pushed again and again not willing to see this world without my shadow. She told me a change had come over her. But these changes I had seen before, and that’s why I cannot trust enough to wait for them to unfold.

Her sadness possesses me.

Her heart is in my chest, heavy – chasing blood to my throat – filling my gutters with our history.

I think our hearts were broken long ago, over and over. Neither of us wanted time to stop us, but the cycle is here and is heeded. I want to go beyond the light and dark on the edges of the canvas that I’ve painted in the last years. I’m sitting on the hand of a servant who was sent to tell me that love is still the highest and the way is still the way.



another dark mist
another siren
another singing
another longing
another – lost in her soul
another good-bye

now she looks
toward the lonely mist
for another wayward
to warm by her heart’s fire
until he’s burned through
– Ashes –
to the bottom
to middle earth
to the mountains
to the sky
into another mist.


Burning through as one would through selves.
Instead of using austerities
I use sirens
to purify me, dash me
on the rocks.
I disintegrate to the bottom of the ocean,
move like the sand
to rift zones,
to middle earth,
to the mountains (My home)
and back. Over and over,
ad infinitum
just like all matter on earth,
until there’s new earth.



About onepercussive

I'm 48 haven't stopped moving since 2. Born in New Orleans, but have traveled the world. Please look for my upcoming work Coalfire Diaries. View all posts by onepercussive

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