Cobwebs Over Columbine

Poetry is

an act of desperation
the fractured heart trying
to force the pieces back into form
hoping to find a soul
split like a geode
poured into the hole in your chest
the exact size and shape of what you’ve lost
treating wounds
like alcohol
burning and cleansing and blurring the world
an amphetamine laced with barbiturates
drowned in opiates
not missing someone, but realizing they’re missing
not loving someone, but knowing you never loved them enough
never about finding God, but about helping God find us
an ocean of salt-water gulped down by a man dying of thirst
the other-voiced echo in the dark
telling you, you are blind and lost, but not alone
a woman building a winter fire out of the splinters of her home
a man meticulously stitching his jugular as he bleed out
struggling for words to tell you I meant to write
more about loving you
less about losing you
driven only to find what’s gone
my words choking
swallowing sound like sand
when you were with me

but darling:
I didn’t lack for poetry.

This poem was written in Spring of 2012. Group editing credits go to my usual and amazing group of fellow poets at UVU. Special thanks to Laura Hamblin (for help on the form and strategic line-breaks), e.e. cummings (whose experimental forms inspired some elements of this work), and Harte (who the poem is about).

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