Exhaustion's Halo

“I’ll see you in another life, when we, are both cats.” Vanilla Sky  

..  
 
Where to begin,  
That’s always the most difficult thing  
 
Breathe  
 
I voice searched Google  
For actors I liked,  
When we met, just as many  
Dead,  
As wilting  
 
I drag my foot  
In the surf, while the sun is  
Ferrying children,  
In a basket  
 
I guess I’ll start by saying,  
I don't know what to say,  
Your emotions are a thunderhead  
My meanings  
Get lost in  
 
I stand at the precipice,  
Summer storms  
Wrap  
Their broad  
Womb  
About the whole,  
In soft  
Susurrations  
Of shadow  
 
The engine vibrates with dull  
Eagerness,  
Upon its weakening  
Mounts,  
As I pour cranberry  
Crimson,  
Into the transmission  
 
Hairs on my arms,  
Neck,  
Downy and  
Dense,  
Cooed  
By a premonition  
Of wind,  
Only now,  
Stirring,  
From sleep, limbs  
Stretching  
Experimentally, as if  
Life were always  
New wings,  
Freshly spooled,  
From eager pinions  
 
And it is.  
 
Breathe  
 
I made myself small, as mass  
Shadows drew everything  
Into their gravity, crushing life and  
All  
Its combatants  
 
Gazing through a windowpane,  
Skyward,  
Beneath a frozen lake,  
Silent,  
Beneath a white faced  
Circle,  
I’m watching everything  
End, as  
Everything  
Begins  
Again, right  
Behind me  
And I can turn  
Around  
And be with them, with  
Everyone  
Moving,  
Or  
I can keep looking  
Down,  
At you  
And be  
With everyone  
Leaving  
 
And then,  
I’m laughing  
At the hunger of  
Gulls, pecking  
At the sand  
Grain, while galaxies are  
Slowly  
Colliding, toward an  
Annihilative  
Event  
Horizon, bronze blades  
Discarded,  
Tumbling  
Into the aether, fingers already  
Curling,  
Into each other’s  
Hair  
 
The only thing  
I cannot do  
Is stay, when the earth is  
Raising  
Its ticking arm  
Toward seven pm,  
Lowering  
Its brow,  
Into sunset  
 
I guess I’ll say,  
I know what its like,  
To hold on  
To something  
Meaningful  
 
If the mind is an electromagnetic  
Sheathe, pulsing  
Crackling, about the whole  
Body,  
In these  
Quiet  
Days  
Of unwriting, I am  
An onion, smooth  
Skins  
Water, beneath a sheer  
Layer, densely  
Woven, as they  
Descend,  
To the core,  
All is still,  
Upon the surface  
And as I  
Peel, eyes  
Water  
 
It is a wonder, when you’ve  
Wept  
Upon my words,  
But they are not  
My words,  
Are they,  
They are ours  
 
Your tears  
Fall  
Upon my shoulder,  
And I feel  
Their weight  
 
Somehow,  
In this space,  
All skins fall  
Away, tides  
Retract  
Their translucent  
Claws,  
Walls  
Kneel,  
Foreheads  
Pressed  
To the earth  
 
Angel of fragile  
Skins, tongue  
Wedged, into any  
Avenue  
Of approach,  
From here, I can only  
Guess  
And, I guess  
It feels like you’re fighting  
Alone,  
Where we should all be  
Screaming,  
Beside you  
And  
Somehow,  
All those voices  
Raised,  
In unified  
Outrage,  
Will boil the sky,  
Blast  
Clean  
The ground  
And silence  
All  
Ugliness,  
Everything,  
Which offends you  
 
I know you’re tired  
And it’s alright  
 
Words shear minutes  
Off our lives,  
Syllables  
Consume  
Seconds  
 
They are so often,  
Quietly  
Ponderous  
Or  
Excruciatingly  
Charged  
 
They are so  
Often,  
Haunted,  
Thrown,  
At ghosts, standing  
Somewhere  
Beyond  
The recipient  
 
Your eyes  
Transfixed,  
Unfixed,  
Signal  
Your target  
 
There are many forms of silence.  
 
I see you.  
 
Drawing it all down,  
Into your abdomen,  
Fingers  
Flexing  
About the core,  
Of ball lightning  
 
All your pain,  
Power,  
Gathering  
And I see it,  
Transforming  
 
And I see you,  
Emerging,  
With a renewed voice,  
That will shatter every  
Mirror,  
They’ve held up,  
To wall you in  
 
Your sentences are so often  
Night trains, hypodermic  
Needles,  
I’m compelled to  
Board, carrying me  
In their hard  
Throats, firing  
Blind  
Bullets, that  
Lodge  
In my soul,  
Slowly  
Dissolving  
Into a collapsed  
Vein,  
Rocketing  
With diseased  
Abandoned,  
Into a gully  
Of darkness  
 
There is a silent gulf  
That pulls the breath from loss  
 
We’re both tired  
And we’re not getting  
Any younger  
 
I felt the goodbye  
That you  
Withheld,  
It clutched its back  
Against  
Your windpipe  
And dug in  
 
Breathe  
 
This was not a silence  
Composed  
Of fear,  
It was the fetal  
Swim  
Of a cocoons  
Metamorphic womb  
 
And I watch  
With eyes  
That have been  
Where you are  
 
And today  
I’ll call you  
Dawn,  
In slowly spreading  
Hues  
Of blush  
And bruise  
 
And in my silence,  
Which is focused,  
Disciplined  
And kind,  
 
I’ll watch you rise  
 
There is a kind of  
Crucible  
In questions, immediately  
Inverts, so that  
The question has  
Thrown  
It’s vice  
Jaws  
About me, it’s  
Presence  
Reeks,  
Of unwelcome  
Demand  
 
I can throw a single breath  
Into the ocean’s  
Violent  
Foment, climb a baldly indifferent  
Edifice,  
To gaze  
Into an immensity  
Of air, walk amongst those  
Whose spirits  
Throw  
Fire wings,  
Over the boulevards,  
Trumpeting  
Cycles of injustice,  
Into the deaf phalanx,  
Of glass  
Helmed  
Faces  
Chained  
Together,  
By duty  
And wage  
 
Funerary vehicles are  
Black,  
Because words are  
Red and  
Raw,  
Around the irises  
 
Close my fist  
About my own throat and  
Squeeze,  
Until stars are  
Crowding out  
The shears,  
Sawing through  
My remaining hours  
 
Walk  
Laughing  
In the hurricanes’  
Deconstruction  
Manifesto, or try to be  
Everything  
I want,  
All  
At once, in a tumult  
Of pummeling  
Lusts and momentary  
Liquefactions,  
Grabbing  
At illusions  
That curl  
In the catacomb  
And recessed  
Crevasses  
Of my dermis,  
Like frayed twine  
 
Winds are pouring a colt’s  
Winnow,  
Across the delta, which holds  
A beveled plane  
In still,  
Horizontal  
Sentinel  
 
Hornets are pirouetting  
To a barely  
Audible  
Music  
 
What I cannot do, is stay  
In the vacuum  
Of your departures  
 
And as I close my eyes, we  
Stand, side  
By side,  
Tired, but  
Unafraid,  
Before all the world  
 
And I feel your head  
Lay down  
Its burdens,  
On my broad  
Bladed  
Shoulders,  
For a few moments  
 
And I feel you,  
And you feel me  
 
Breathe  
 
Questions are eaters  
Of life hours, it  
Pains me,  
To answer  
And I’ll not offer  
And I’ll not ask  
 
And what I truly  
Want  
Is to dance,  
For you  
 
I’ll paint my reflection  
Of a moment,  
Across a receptive  
Canvas  
And hope  
My love  
Glows  
Through,  
A moon white  
Smile,  
Throwing coal  
Embers  
Over the puddle  
Between us,  
You can step across,  
If you wanted to  
 
I hope to speak  
In a pantomime  
Of unwords,  
As we circle  
Each other, beneath  
Exhaustion’s halo,  
All our remaining  
Moments,  
Tucked  
Comfortably,  
Behind our  
Teeth  
 
And if the blessing of our  
Sometimes  
Deafness, as we’re listening  
To a long departed  
Afternoon  
Storm, of rain and  
Slow grind  
Of lovemaking, we are  
Tightly wound  
Gears,  
Unspooling,  
Into a fluid  
Jumble, where  
You and I, our  
Distinct  
Separateness, is  
A warm  
Haze, of  
Usness  
 
You’ve become  
A phantom  
Limb, of still  
Rising  
Petrichor  
Musk  
 
The blessing is then found  
In the effort,  
To listen,  
Past  
The constant  
Murmur,  
Of memory  
 
You lean in,  
Close,  
Heat  
Palpable  
Against my outer  
Bulwarks, ear  
Canted  
Upwards, eyes  
Searching, their  
Inquisitive  
Swim, through a universe  
That is expanding  
To escape their  
Grasp, to  
Avoid,  
A question’s vice  
 
And,  
Now,  
Within the mere  
Inch, that  
Remains  
Between us,  
Oceans tremble  
In nude revelation,  
Upon their still  
Silt beds  
 
The sun has  
Thrown  
Its quiver  
Barren  
And sinks  
Beneath the cemetery
Hill, which  
Raises it’s  
Chiseled arms  
And sweeps their  
Distended shadows,  
Across our hands,  
Reaching  
Upwards  
 
Our pale  
Palms  
Visible  
In the dark,  
 
Like sails in the moonlight  
 
..  
 
Exhaustion’s Halo  
By  
Daniel Christensen