Medical Sonnet #8

art by René Milot

Hear ye, humble followers: my image shall be held on high! 
Neglect hath shrunk my heart, a weight 
that moors us to the blackest sea, while I apply 
a golden gilt that fashions an alluring bait.
Depth of sight I haveth not, and thus I do collect
façades that shineth hugely brighte;
my biggest mirror is a wall, unfairest
since I needeth not to contemplate nor self-reflect.
I grant to ye my gravity from such tremendous heights.
What’s slick as oil causes falls, embarrassed
from the tower’s suite
(no room for anyone but me, for I, of course, am self-replete).
Revolve 'round me like I'm the sonne! I’m just as full of gas—
I lighte the way by leading with my egocentric ass.

sky and sea

the sky is meant to lie against the sea

every night line between them disappears

the sea is always wet for the sky

the sky is covered in signs

the sea sobs its ecstasies

the sky beholds it all

the sea conceives of everything

the sky withholds its beholding

the sea spills over the lip of its cup

the sky reads the remnants

the sea comes in long lines

the sky opens like legs

the sea is prone to lunacy

the sky is over the moon

the sea is always pregnant

the sky delivers us all

the sea spits out all glittering things

the sky inhales your last breath

Medical Sonnet #7

In winter’s hoar, thy absence leaves me chilled
with fitful feelings tugging at my breast.
Uneasy, restless, desperate to be filled,
A breathless, longing woe: I must redress.
Spring wakes me from below, and insects stir.
A thousand spiders hang upon their thread,
While I dangle from the open sky, in turn,
by a solitary sigh of whispered dread.
Now the grasses blow in summer’s seething,
A gasping roused and kindled by the night.
Yes, summer is a time of heavy breathing,
Yet something also keeps it very light.
Autumn does a strip-tease, leaves are falling.
Desperation suits me not, I’m on my knees.
I beg for inspiration; now I’m crawling,
While waiting to exhale without a wheeze.

___
art by Miles Aldridge

dictum

all artistry is an act of translation
beauty is not fleeting
silence is a form of generosity
lace is a woman’s web

the best magic is restraint
time is a graceful suicide
confusion is fertile ground
mystery is not fragile

a kiss is a portal
chemistry is not love
home is where the art is
absence is a form of presence

naming is an act of recognition
the discipline of love is not passive
people are not meant to be solved

the sky is a matter of fact
earth is a revolving door
the silver lining is torn

levity is rebellion
cremation is a cure
heartbreak is trending

the break is the blossom
the best pedestal is the floor
love is a war you will lose

You make me hard

Pressed to go about my day

Want to pin you to the wall

Like a thangka, 

Still wet when you touch it

Made for the altar

Meant to be worshipped

(In a way)

Like the View

From my knees

(science is magical realism

romance is generally haunted

infinity is none of your business

my therapist is out of her league

this dream is getting long)

Medical Sonnet #5

illustration by Racquel Aparicio

Into the earthy realm we come, with friction as our gate
to don ill-fitting garments that our forebears did create.
But some unlucky soles, it seems, who would have worn too thin,
Become overly hardened here for want of thicker skin.
Still others look to chemicals, as though we can escape.
Alas, there is no exit when we’re circular in shape.
And even when we do dissolve, are peeled up from our flesh,
We may decide to start again, in agony, refreshed.
Physicians in white coats advise to take in fresher air,
In padded rooms with wider berths, perhaps, while we repair.
Still, pressure from all sides can mount when trouble is afoot.
Our suffering is certain, and we can’t give it the boot.
Yes, misery is guaranteed; we run on solar pain,
and sometimes it is doubled, when we go against the grain.