Gibberish

I am another body perpetuated in a litany of the same old-
	same old words littered on stolen images. Hackneyed
like the rest of you. My words run as deep as the waste bin,
pooling at the edges -
	Did you know
freckles become the reminders of stupidity
built en masse by the eyes who adored me - relied on the way I
can open my body like the atmosphere. Catching fire
to pollutants - the way it burns reminds me of home. 
	I have a secret
that I can only spell here. This place that's gone
cold with dead quotations - wisdom lost on misspelled repeats. 

I still want to open. To bloom red against the darkening sky
and hit the Earth until I am one with it.
				
					Comfort them when they weep.



© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019

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

Under the Canopy

Blistering light –
love undaunted – inundated by
the burn marks on my heart.
I speak too much of the dark
days passing subtle
through your light
that I return bright even
when I am blinded by it.
What I mean is
you grow in me, like
forests kissed by sunlight
touched always with cool
shadow and warm
embraces.
The thought of losing
this engulfs the trees
in ash – gutters smoke
into punctured lungs
and leaves me barren
to a world lush
somehow without you.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

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