Wednesday, September 23, 2015

A Bar Stool Baby





The Morgue File



wantonness is a slow burn
moving silently toward shadows
left behind bar stools on a hazy Saturday night,

picking its way among the wreckage
trailed in from lives disintegrating
one decibel at a time,

finding life in thieves' movements
a slip of lip
in a bathroom stall.

are you all in yet?



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015

The midweek motif at Poets United is all about choices this week, Here is my bit.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Complicity





Prague, the Main Station
The Morgue File


we suffer the tenderness
that suffuses a smile
pasted in place,

one that imprints
its block of light
upon skin too timid to know
that its time is almost up.

count them down,
those days until
the extant becomes the extinct---

not so long really
we all helped
we weavers of shrouds
tinged with the apathy
that killed the bees first.


Copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015


Not sure what is going on with this one today. But here it is anyway.
posted for The Tuesday Platform

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Dissolution


The Morgue File



i cried daily
for years as you drank.
i cried until rivulets
permanently etched, north and south
along my mouth.

my heart, shriveled and dry
love's aftertaste
stamped on tongue and cheek.


the afternoon sun was hot against concrete
the day you slammed her against a wall
she was five and you,
you were drunk (again)
and it was that easy

you were gone a week later
a marriage dissolving
like so much ice
in vodka.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015



A watershed moment for Poets United  mid-week motif


Tuesday, September 1, 2015

The You I Hold




The Morgue File
Painted Background





I pin your voice onto the backs of my eyes
corneas etched with words
that feel like magic in the air,
in the red sky of the day.

I want to roll my coat in them,
stuff my pockets with their sounds
so that me who reads them
can always find her place in them.

I fear their fall into gutters,
their mixing with the sweat of the day
until ink runs,
before my eyes can really see.

If I am careful
I can hold them in place,
long enough for the ink to dry,
long enough for me to breathe them in,
long enough for me to remember.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015

Posted for the Toads Tuesday Platform