To My Bug

Undying light –
youth of a limited
eternity –
may you grow like oak
against hail storms spit out
into the air – or soft linen
in a cool stream.
Washed but free to wander
when the weather is clear.
I will uproot you,
asking forgiveness in
moments I regret
the process of aging –
fearing the memories
that will make you un-mine.
I cannot leave
until your happiness
is sewn into this quiet Earth –
the final ring inside my
brittle bark.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018  For my buggy

Well Days Are Still Tired Nights

It’s unbecoming of a liar
to tire on the empty days
of which the truly lost
yearn to lay their heads
on the warm thighs
of a half interested
series of caresses.
——–That’s like living the dream!
But (and there’s always a but)
people like us stand on the shores
edge, tonguing teeth and tiny
bits of sand caught from
the wind carrying upwards
our inconsistent spirits –
a stench so imbued with salt
one can’t help but wonder
if the weeks before were
all a dream – wreaking havoc
on the humid normality
of everyone’s perfect day.
But lucky me,
I have the kind of thighs
that hold unconditional interest.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

I seek forgiveness…

I seek forgiveness not 
with God but with them.
The ones with Eyes 
sewn into the backs of their heads
        - who gesticulate their shame
while I discard my heart through
painted fingernails trying to drink
air through garbled recordings
of a Voice I do not recognize.

        - I am the shit show -
the Garbage silhouette 
        - out of breath -
dancing on the glass they 
drop along with eggshells
I use to pay the dues owed 
for my bloody feet.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

disoriented

control ebbs - contracting back
into the Horizon where waves are born
where they die
peacefully
over and over again

I don't know how to write from here. 

a body can only sink so many
times before they stay
still
with the tide
tucked neatly under
the bottom of the sea
greedy - hungry
little fish nibble at salty skin
sore knees - open palms
reaching for the stray light
peaking through a nauseous sky.

But these forms mean absolutely nothing. 

over and over again
peacefully
where they die
inside the Horizon where waves are born
contracting back - control ebbs. 


© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018