poetry

Armageddon is Just a Field of Dirt by Tyler Wood

 

Night created a vacuum,

the world outside vanished,

white walled universe squared

around the kids. The stairs -

sirens – calling reform, they knew.

They wished for silence in the dark.

 

They kissed silently in the dark,

padlocking secrets in their mouths

to be released only in the soft air

of last exhilations. Fear remained,

antagonist to the heart? Hands

wrapped around hands and flesh.

 

A squeek from above jilted hearts

like love. The dark became fear

again, losing its cocoon appeal.

The universe expanded for millenia,

then contracted again, hearts softened.

The eyes stared into each other

 

brown and blue like the earth planet.

Their universe was back to square.

Quiet re-opened an interlocking,

desperatly softer and more concerned.

Seeking hands touchfeel skin

and virgin sense perceptions.

 

The floor beckened like ancient times,

hard capture against the wood grain.

Wind across glass, the only sound,

outside reminding. The staircase quiet

revealed interbody transformations.

There would be no tomorrow.

 

There could be no tomorrow for them,

the kids who sat in the dark

no longer exist. The universe

left the bodies laying quiet

under the dark sky moon

on a land filled with dirt.

 

Her Awakening by Tyler Wood

 

His tongue dried her tear ducts
they went in after slipping the driver a couple bucks
Her hands were pressed against the wood grain
they were limp but forceful, recovery – pain,
it might wash away. That was what she thought,
He brought his best face forward, but she wasn’t looking.
Her mascara stained eyes were vacant and searching
the body for signs, replenishment. His fingers – in, out
over skin discovering. Her fingers trailed his touch
She was picking up what he left her,
it wasn’t much.
Her hands trembled in the blank room
they sought recompense from a noiseless tune.
Her eyes never met his, they sought release.
His eyes poised on flesh, they were at peace.

Hands were laid upon her stomach, back, throat.
His fingers gripped her long black hair and slightly tugged,
She released a note,
it resembled life. The life she was searching for.
It was just a flash but her eyes closed
Her smile arose and her nose twitched just a bit

 

Rhythm Synthesis by Tyler Wood

 

The baby blue sky covers the treetops

unison expanse covering the land.

The land which I find myself

walking on. Upon the pebbled path

trees rustle in the wind as if I

could speak to them, and they to I.

A leaf detaches from its home,

falling, it spirals, its border lit like fire,

twisting. I hear only thumping

footsteps, my feet upon the paths

pearly pebbles. Swishing of the leaf

mixes with the pebbles beneath my feet

mixing rhythm with a rhyme.

Standing there, standing still is time,

swishing and thumping making music,

the leaf dances in the air as I stare

moving my body in circles. Air whips around

I and the leaf in equal time. I and the leaf

equal in time, the spine of the tree, the spine

of each. Swishing and thumping mixing

to one sound, the heart beat – ba boom –

varicose veins extend to the tips of the leaves

pulsing blue blood from my fingers,

sap fills my forearm.

I no longer see sun,

only footprint.

Hear only air,

leaf outline

line

=

 

Portrait of a Girl Unfinished by Tyler Wood

 

The touch of skin (so soft) between shirt

and jeans; aperture of the hip – the bone –

like mountains shift in a skirt of fog. Finger-

print moon on red skin, is now fading. Glance

of Beautiful Medusa, fire hair tips

exposure cries for you. In dark you die

alive. Illuminated eyes, the counter-veil,

the bulb before it hurts. Sunrays across

the floor, in slanted forest negative.

She said she had been asleep. She calls

to bed now, replicating the feel

of hands, the asp under the pillow. Dead

between finger and skin. Fingertips of men, her

landscape – like cities: Steel and metal form

destroy the view with view. Dried up tear

ducts, eyes flash view to view to fill

the void. Her stomach; receding water before

the waves, the sand is brilliant light – nova

star. She takes only pictures with her

in frame of metal wire and gold. She takes

only the heart. The bed is filtered fire.

This iris diaphragm controls her desire -

born of midnight miscarriage upon

the back. Written in blood upon the sheets

is her – not you – not truth – no not the girl

inside. She plays the only song she knows

off-key upon the operation table,

and yet I sit and overlook with mask

off. Softly I pick up the brittle leaf

and try to feed it. She focuses in on me,

I feel the burn around my neck. “Asleep”,

She said. She tucks the sheets under the bed.