Rocking Towers

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Rocking Towers

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Tonight, the void creeps

in, with him, through

the wood framed doors.

                                    cold

like a heap of ash after

a day underground.

                                    Hair-splits

the bone, the eager heart, the eyes

that follow every gesture.

 

What survives now of the tower dream,

the stone skipping and the wishing well?

 

Both hands pressed against the T.V. set,

trying to block the talk

                                    and hold

the cut and thistle.

 

Both lovers glancing at the street lights’

glare, waiting

for the other to give

                        the word –

a blue blue touch

farewell.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst 

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Harvest” 1996

Face to Face

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Face to Face

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            We rise to deliver

our final wounds.

 

            I hang from an inward thread,

frayed by storm. You

sit in your chair, plastered

with brittle privacy.

            Neither of us moves to warm the air.

The floor between turns to quicksand

with a thick layer of hovering mosquitoes above.

Anger with a voice too tight to speak

takes the form of ant-like apparitions, covering

our four-corned walls.

 

            It will be done. We will be bone

and nothing else when this is through.

It will not matter,

the scent of our first or final kiss

            for the proud demon-martyrs

embracing our ribs,

taking seat on our laps

have all but swallowed us whole,

conquered.    

.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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You Shaped My Song, Then Left

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You Shaped My Song, Then Left

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Voyaging down beside the worms

through the abscess of earth to hold

a gem stone sinking.

 

My roots have been seized

by their rival the wind,

unable to alter the atmosphere.

 

My love leans between

opposing worlds, wanting

to erect hope where hope

can no longer sustain.

 

This place of uncommon intensity,

a place a little closer to the window

where my thoughts can rest on only

the setting sun and you.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

 

First published in “Raven Cage, Issue 26” September 2018

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Hdv93t42aRcr5RMMyKCysJ3Fi08KwDgX/view

RavenCageZineIssue26

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Pendulum

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Pendulum

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Remove the spies

from my grief.

I cannot defend myself

with such pale armour.

I cannot tell you it will be eternal,

this day in which I burn for your soft mouth.

I cannot say the door is there,

it is always there.

I drown kisses on your neck.

I reach that wave of endless choice,

returning from episode to episode

of our unforgettable unions. And then

the stars seem to stumble around

the globe, tripping for no reason

into grave oblivion. Like us, they have

their secrets and sorrows they cannot

share. Like us, they glow in the night’s

pool-deep eye, unanchored

despite the gravity.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

3018img182

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Raven Cage, Issue 26” September 2018

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Hdv93t42aRcr5RMMyKCysJ3Fi08KwDgX/view

RavenCageZineIssue26

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Waking Up

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Waking Up

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In the dawn’s light clearing, I sweep

the glacier clouds

reach

my arms to your flesh, awakened from dream.

 

Plunging into ethereal

substance, head pressurized with fatigue,

your body pulled close to mine, and legs

criss-crossed like swords laid down –

 

I glance up

through our window, then down

to watch you roll over:

naturally revealed.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

3018img182

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Our Poetry Archive” November 2018

 

 

Heavy As Any Ache

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Heavy As Any Ache

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We cannot

hang in the grip of this cloud

for long. The waste

of bad habits, concealing

kindness with a show

of wit. Sarcasm as fatal

as a cut throat or plain as

a child’s cry.

Hearts stuffed with

hollow match-stick crimes.

 

Counter clockwise the sun spins. The moon

climbs the back of an angel, breaks

her thin spine.

 

You look the other way, look for a hero

rising from your hands, for a rainbow

in my flooded eyes.

 

It cannot be done. We cannot be more

than mortal.

.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

3018img182

.amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

Published in “Our Poetry Archive” November 2018

 

Whenever I touch him

.

Whenever I touch him

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Heavy shackle

around my shell.

He says no, no,

to the great descent

 

to hands locked in the wind,

on pillow or sheets.

 

October sun beating on my covered spine

So many walls erected in the name of home

 

He talks of black birds glowing

or running into webs as wide

as a tree’s open arms.

 

 

© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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