Sometimes Grace Sucks

To put too fine a point on it:
Sure there are still things that frighten me
Oh, God, yes
Always room
for another stark surprise
a new specter to flinch under,
a new fluke-slash-diagnosis.

imagesGod thinks you have broad shoulders,
we’re told again (and again)
But I have to think
He’s playing that block tower game,
but in reverse,
laying it on, piece by piece
seeing how much we can carry
before we collapse

Then maybe He’ll chuckle, have a beer,
and start again.



looking up through trees, painting by B J C MThe forest is a village,
a society, inhabited.

Oaks are like knotty grandfathers
caressing with harshgentle barkbeard cheeks,
looming like green mountains,
smelling of loam and bittersweet.

Birches are lithe sisters, reaching
pale arms to the moon,
tickling the spring night with their catkins,
and the summer air with shivering leaves.

Maples cloak themselves demurely
thickly sheltering soft feathery lives
only to turn brazen come fall,
to mantle bewitchingly,
flush and glow.

Stately pines grow tall and stern
discounting the seasons,
proud silhouettes belying
their fierce tenacity,
the blaze in their adamant brawn.

Below, ancient moss
is plush and green
among old labyrinths of roots
and sweetly rotting logs.

Between, above, beyond,
hidden eyes survey every glint and shade,
from deep sweet caverns of wood and leaf.
The undergrowth rustles.

The woods are greens and more greens.
Cool with shadows, to swallow you up,
and there, and there, and – oh! –
lemon-hot greens where sun
breaches the canopy
sparking your eye,
muting your breath,
falling like a shower of air,
like a collective sigh.

Brain-Cage 3 (of 3)

(spoiler: darkness ahead, reader discretion advised.  
For Brain-Cage 2, click here. )

I do though, I do try
to go out sometimes but
people just minding their own business
start screaming in my head
or claw at my eyes instead
or jump out of nowhere
one person is a whole crowd
their living is so fucking loud
I think my ears are starting to bleed
I think I need to bleed myself
to let off pressure
I think I need
to go foetal

for all this distortion
the only other option I can think of
is hiding out at home, hiding
from the rage, hiding
in this brain-cage;
I turn away from windows,
and bleed out on the page
and screen-stare till my eyes sear
eat myself in,
drowned in the din
of my own toxic voice
hating. every. choice.
I never wanted to spend my life
crying all day

so I do go out,
but in controlled bits
in starts and fits
scripted, clocked and cloaked
so they’re all unaware
there’s a trick to it
thick makeup mask
no sign of despair
all my scars hidden
all my wounds under wraps
my self-disgust under wraps
my ears still bleeding
behind my hair,
but better goddamn make it look effortless

nobody gets it
unless the mask slips
even I’m not sure what I really look like
and now
so much time has gone by
since this storm rose beneath me
I start to fear I can’t
pull it off any more
won’t be me under there
just a void …
so God I hope I can keep
pulling off the trick
long enough
to pass


(c) 2016 by Rosetti C / Translunary Things

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