Genderless Winter

Blank and white with a frostbitten edge,

Like silver knives stinging in every little breath.

Too cold for sex, but perfect for a touch

From fingers warm that don’t sink too much.

It starts with a trance, to the depths, to the roots,

And the emptiness inside, uncluttered, unpoluted.

A masculine abstraction made with feminine grace.

Insensitive seasons reflecting nature’s soft face.

A hunger in a dream, cutting straight through my words,

A silent understanding, an intuition unheard.

The loss of all heat and the induction of warmth.

Pining for nothing and weighing all its worth.

Ambiguities vanish, there’s only one choice,

To relinquish and recover body, disposition, and voice.

I Found Myself Buried

I was naked, around twilight,

Covered in dirt and leaves

Having been buried alive,

By life buried.

A crawling mass of moist earth

Composed of dismembered deaths,

Colonies of feeding decomposers,

And my own fragile ego.

I must have sunk

From grace down to dirt

And been planted face-down,

Neglected and self-misused.

I suppose I slept

Because I dreamed vividly

In colors more vibrant and varying

Than I ever felt before.

I’d visited myself,

Seen the spectrum of my being

Like so many blends of fantasy and memory

Shifting perpetually within.

Only after waking

I recognize the implication

Of finding myself alive,

Head-first buried in a hole.