The Sky is still Open.

The sky is still open.
I'm telling myself that.

Lately.

It's been hard lately.

Briefly.

http://oncorhynchusdancinginthestars.tumblr.com/post/167977172150/brief

Fuck.

October leading in to
November has been
some serious ass.
But we're making small steps to being
back to normal.
New chemicals
while you look for
new employment.
We can do this
we say.
And I want to believe this.
I do believe it.

Nose exhalation.

It came this morning.

Needed.

I am struggling this week.

How my body has changed; how little we seem
to touch - unless alcohol lubricates us.
How much I am needed
yet go with my own needs unmet.
Reversion has settled in again.
Your working patterns- they make you seem..
selfish? callous?
Flirts in quiet messages are gone-
an one sided effort it feels.
a dreading of winter -
that bitter cold- I dread it.
I hate it.
The time of the hag, the crone.
A sleeping time.
A creature of the warmth, I feel as though
withered in the cold here.
Questions for together
can time be made?
do I still appear
to you
attractive? how unsettling a dream
can be.
A flabby gut
bloated belly.
Clothes don't fit.
What to do?
Little fingers
begging
screaming voices
toddler of two; small person of six.
When all I beg for is
time to myself; goes unheard.
All I want
is to lay abed
sleeping
ignoring.
A masturbatory finger
my only companion;
a brief burst of release in a field of tensions.
But the fingers come
a kiss on a bumped
knee
meals to make
wash to fold
ears to hear
his working life
that I understand so little of.
Bills unpaid
stacking, stacking.
What to do?

Fading light.

Summer fades-

Small.

Small noises
its 627 in the morning.
I can hear
a dog barking
He does that every time
he's out.
Birds are singing.
My coffee is lukewarm
Ideas run through
my head
Stories and possibilities
For a character
in a game
I devote
maybe too
much time to.
I think of you.
Our legs tangled
messy kisses
in bed.
I think of the slick-sticky penetration
our bodies joined
relaxing in to that languid
relief, of panting breath
 Hands grasping.
Maybe a nap.
I think of them;
their feet stamping
voices calling
Milk and toast
cereal and carrots.
Where will you go
today my loves?
The jungle?
the sea?
on the porch with
tiny plastic animals.
A bin of sand.
Lately
recently
You've explored
old noises.
Noises from a time passed.
The old flavours
a brief thrill
nostalgia.
'Far too frail'
indeed.

it has a name.

The rejection
has a reason.
a name
a cause.
Your fears are still there-
but it's not all you.
Confessions in the fading
light of summer.
You won't even name them
not here-
respectful.
Only..
Gentle words
of support
suggestions
for
assistance.
Small steps
small.

patpat.

When she runs
her feet hit the carpet with a satisfying
patpatpatpat sound.
Often she babbles
or maybe just a long
'Oooo!', or a screech.
Her arms might flail as she seeks
to balance herself.
She runs after her sister
or for an offered treat
a cookie
Or a coveted cheese slice.
But that little sound.
Bare feet on carpet.
patpatpatpat.
Always will I savor that
small noise, often lost to traffic
as we walk
over looked
when we do our dailies.
Patpatpatpat.

Passing the break.

There's no respite
as a parent.

Says.

He says

He reached out today.

6 and nearly 2.

One is six now.
The other, smaller
almost 2.
I call them 6 and 2.
Who's counting? maybe the doctor.
Watching them
2 is running
naked
around the table.
6, my first
showering
after an afternoon
spent in chalk.
We listen
We listen to music
from when I was born.
savoring
this first day
of Summer.
A tiny voice says
It's not for you.
But for once I feel
For once I feel
like I can snap
clap
my jaws
and say
no.

Muddled.

I used to have words for
that sensation you have
when you're just waking up
from sleep.
A muddle

Last week.

It's a struggle.

I sit here you know
getting lost in a false world, with faces I'll never see
words I'll never really hear
just read in safety.
But it's a comfort.
Hooves and horns
swishing tails
alone still
un-obligated.

watch.

I watch her
as we walk.
It's raining. Her umbrella is folded
waved around as she sings
oblivious to the light rain I shelter myself
and the baby from.
She sings and chatters
hair and face
kissed by the moisture.
She chatters
why do the worms crawl?
can she wear her boots on the
way home?
When can she walk alone?
I watch her
carefree.
no worries
except maybe
the chicken for dinner.
She spins
and she twirls
waving to the cars
My Little Hands.
May you never stop.

nEW

A new friend.
oblong and rectangular
a faded orange with a notch.
It helps the sights to go away
clarity.
but cannot shake the
constant feeling
of unease
unhappiness.
Nothing I can do
alleviates the sensation
of wrongness.
Is it a joke now?
how do we fix it?
do I let it go on?