A Few Haiku

Parched, pink, supple skin

tastes of salt and strawberry.

Like countless late nights.

—–

Fingers dance as one –

mirrored hands like those around

us. We are ghosts here.

——

Soft moans carry sound

through tepid summer nights. You

birth fire* to the air.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019

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*I understand the ambiguity of the word fire being used as both a one syllable word or two. In this case it’s one… so it fits of course. : P

 

 

 

 

Chair 3

The walls aren’t usually white
    these days
creams + browns like mocha
hang Jesus from the corner
   of our eyes.
Death reminds us of its cruelty
in benign tumors + loving arms
+ gaping palms + meaty pincushions.
if we’re worthy of Purgatory’s
feng shui can we eat
the medicated bounty of
   this place
built in God’s unspoken name.

I’m here again. not even the cots
   want me
violated by my head space
unsettled by the hues
welcoming + regurgitated
coffee grounds on waxy stucco
of my repeating coffin.   
   I see him
beautiful + bleached
content to idle
in the perpetuity of decay +
tiny sobs from broken souls.   



©️Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

Broke

I spend my words on sorrow
immeasurably so – unbalanced
in wasting all I have on
paintings of an unknown end.
And I wonder – wander through
a moment of pastels in floral,
warmed by her glow – The Sun—
embedded into mornings unseen by me
yet felt in dreams I’ve yet to dream.

Is this me? A place where
I am bent – splintered at the sides
& open wholly for all to watch me reaching –  
the dusk pulling at my pockets for
the rest of my voice, unwritten.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

Rain Maker

you crush shadows
in the palms of your hands
overflowing from your fingers
reborn from your touch-
an endless spring
clear, wild & innocent
like fresh rain puddles
in the face of our quiet sun.

when you swallow me in your arms
just as tightly –
i wonder where the darkness goes.

©️Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

i know you know –

i know you know –
the inability to understand
peace when the sun yanks
you from the cheap IKEA
coffin you built by hand –
alive but struggling to
breathe from last nights
dealings with death.
you were so sure
she’d find you un-moving
under the duvet –
heart stopped-
lungs restless-
pants full of shit.
but here you are
almost wishing it was real –
swallowing slow dissolving
sorrows – bitter. life saving.
i know you –
you’re getting tired.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018