I know…two poems in a week! Sometimes life demands it.

I dedicate this poem to anyone who’s ever wished that people with closed minds came with closed mouths, and that we didn’t always have to assume the worst of our fellow man (and woman).

My mouth is an Ariel
weary of arias
the only
notes I’ve known for weeks
are sour fruit
my tongue
would rather pen praises
my soul no longer has
liberty to sing those
affections that never feel
less potent truths I can’t
escape from and
don’t want to
I’ve boxed them up
pushed them into
cobweb corners their
pointed corners push
against fresh places
in fresh heart wounds
I’ll keep them for you
it’s sad that those
words meant to be
a nightlight
and pure
frighten blind children
who feast on lies they
tell like bedtime stories
when their happy endings
turned to tarnished tales
impossible to put faith in
they see what they want to see
the hymns they sing lyricize
love with sticky breaths
stolen tongues moonless
nights soiled sheets the
only thing they can conceive
is that the only way
I could take bullets for you
is if I used you
the only way
I could invite you to be
part of my home is through
the back door that for me to
acknowledge your beauty
so intrinsic it blinds to
look at you sometimes
is plausible
only
if I matched it with currant-colored
intentions
and criminal designs
I am death-weary
of them all
say let the lies turn back
on them like forked-tongue
plagues
let them choke on their
selfsame suspicions
that have little to do
with you
or me
and everything to do
with what’s wrong
with their own hearts
their own sour fruit
their bitter-noted
arias.