“Restless Constellations” by Keith Martin

If the lake of my bones were to be dredged
By the barges of time and my heavy memory
They would slowly bring to the surface
All of the broken hearted people left in
My wake who have drowned under
The piano of my pain and dishonesty
Every decision I have made in my best interest
at the expense of my lover’s ghosts
Would come back and haunt me
And never leave me again
Each pained expression and unleashed tear
Would be pinned to my grey shirts and pants
A reminder of what I have been
And a reminder of who I am to
Those forlorn souls I have injured
I would say to those in my past
Who I have forever crossed,
“come with me and take my hand”
But none of them would return
No one would know how my heart throbbed and tickled.
The rooms these rough souls occupy
Would scream at me to get out and never return
They would ignore me as I bled from my heart
Each of these female memories are on the surface now
They represent everything I have become
Fire hydrants gushing from the open wounds I carry
I feel their fire stinging my malodorous incisions
That can never heal from the fetid infections in this lake
Once Again I see their faces filled with disappointment
Their bitterness does not put out my garlic fire
Nor can bringing them back ever douse
The incorrigible flames I have wrought
I close my eyes to make the memories vanish but
I can never forget the wars that I have left behind
Nor the roots that I have ravaged in time
My heart is a deserted train station devoid of affection
Bees circling in the empty traps looking to sting and vent
In the bottom of my lake there are no voices, or farewells
Or arias or waterfalls to make notice of those I left
Only empty and dead relationships left in my wake
That I wish belonged to somebody, anybody else
Each of these distraught ulcers unearthed represent
The people I have left behind and never contacted again
my restless constellations
Have been shaken from their foundations
Increasingly Leaving me to cry and self pity.
The king of my bones will be crowned with thorns
From each of my former lovers requesting I repent
For each of the sins bought at their alter and never spent
They now reside in rooms full of ashes, filling tunnels into
the doorways of my heart.
Angry warehouses know each of the strands
In my lovers hair have been ruined by webs left in my wake
I have been a bad bad man. Believe me, you do not
Want to know what I have hidden at the bottom
Of my lake. Those items could stick to you and
Infect you with all of the black rooms I cannot deny.

Keith Martin

© 4.19.12

One comment

  1. lkthayer · May 3, 2012

    Stunning work Keith!! Bravo!

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