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enjoy thisAllison Grayhurst writing in the free 2015 PDF file chapbook: No Raft — No Ocean (click on the front cover image or the title text to download the free PDF file)				You can also order this as a 2015 6" x 9" perfect-bound paperback ISBN# book! Click on the book cover to order No Raft - No Ocean as a book at any time!

Desires traversed

Allison Grayhurst

                
                There are lines that frame me in negative expectations.
There are sweet tufts of weeds
I would like to pet like a kitten. And eyelashes that spark
a gentle nostalgia.
There are too many eras
walked through, never to be re-entered,
and remnants of lore and legends
like pigeon droppings on pavement, washed away by storm.
                I have grown too used to the drapes being closed,
to all mannerisms of my fugitive vitality being ignored.
Saturn is a vacuum, galactic in its weighty substance
and in its cold temperature push -
condensing my liquid garden into impenetrable ice.
                A tightening in my intestines. Shoelaces undone and left.
I eat the seeds I am supposed to discard.
I am beyond knowing if
I am broken. And oh the circle of things! Up the escalator.
Colour-coded stars. A dermal abrasion.
                Things conspire like sunken feet in the mire
unwinding of doom. Archaeology I cannot speak of,
guaranteeing a false result.
Straining to sound a faith that will cleanse.
                Distances crossed, to point to and witness
the handicap of being a single being
amongst a kaleidoscope of organic tapestry.
Shifting to let go, to imagine archangel
power and not have it substituted with
a neutralizing force - a force that stops the growth
of artful transformation.                
                There are hills and hallways that draw me to their altars.
Little did I know that dreams too long waited on
become waterlogged, that suffering is not
a stigma or a banner to flaunt, and love,
is mostly about honouring inner limitations,
challenging them to consolidate, regain momentum then
unequivocally be breached or be immutably restored.
                I am dissolved into this squeezing, into denying
the little that I know that quivers precise,
deconstructing the intricate
solidity of greed and hard resilient walls.

                Orbits are barb-wired.
Countdowns counting, dictating short spurt breaths.
As my tendons stretch
only in my imagination. And these doorways become
sunsets I stand straddled across.
                History is a hyena, grotesquely curved,
pulling down royal constellations.
I have learned that peace can be a pyre
were loins burn exquisite, can also be a dishonest maturing,
where desires are reduced to fruit fly annoyances,
where coming to terms with reality is a step toward
entropy.
                Little did I know that bodies melt with their spirits -
more than dead houses or gloves, defining one tick, one
conjoining of fibers, pulsing a fingerprint, pulsing
one lifetime possessed.

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