slow blue heart

(a poem for a black heart procession)

your church is empty who should I pray to?
your river runs dry and still you cross that bridge
I ask if I can come too

sometimes the rain falls and I can’t stop it
falling from forever like summer is gone
everything is over and we are too
and you’re digging for your lipstick and I’m
holding on to the edge of the table trying
to remain sober

trapped by thoughts of poison you are
standing in a photograph you are
lost without a lighthouse you are
you are captured in my eyes and I wish I could let you go

chainsaw smoking another cigarette
this trail of glass helps me forget
feeling strung out like a tight wire ashtray
and this cigarette keeps me alive
my life by match light in a sulfur sanctuary

and I believe that what you need
I have not got it seems I’m not
the man you thought I was and you can go
but if you leave you know that I’ll leave too
if you’re willing to wait I can’t promise that I’ll change
all I can give you right now is the rain
it fills us up it flows under the bridge
we are covered by smoke
and quiet my life by match light
this cigarette keeps me alive

Author: mjfeldmar

Marcel Feldmar was born and raised in Vancouver, BC—(That’s Canada, eh?). He studied creative writing at Capilano College and then ended up spending some time in an institution called The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, and now he lives in Los Angeles where his words often get caught in traffic.

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