Nostos + Algos

A place

I felt at home,
and I desire completely
but can’t return to.

Entomologically

nostalgia creeps
into my memories
and into my dreams,
the places you still exist.

Fragmented and illusory.

Definitions don’t define me,
but confuse me, confine me
to torturous exploration of meaning.

We were not sustainable,
you were entertainable,

not by lute or flute
but sing bard sing.

In a cracked voice
we ended Spring
under the blaring Summer.

My ice-cream melted
into the sea
before I could eat,
as it always does.

Wonderer, Wanderer, Icarus

I will not be bound
by blood, cum or spit.
I will not be kept
by unkempt linen on a bed,
or passion-thrown to a floor,
by light-filtered cigarette smoke.
By knotted umbilical cords,
and strained Christmas dinners.
Untie garden hose and fly,
from nest, from home
when I know my wings
haven’t quite yet grown.
Call me not Icarus
if branches break and
my branches have broken.
I’ll be bound by will
not water that leaks,
or tries to drown,
into this sinking ship.
I’ll jump, I’ll fly.