Kerry Cox Poetry

Rebelle

for Noël

Wrapped in gowns of gabardine streams
no tongue native to these words
claimed like scars in the palm
of singing hands

walked, talked the dance, a hymn
of a trance, wrapped in the rope of
a lover’s new dance
the rain falls

necklaced and night-seeing
abalone sorrows becoming
a story told to the collarbone
the old ways relearned

taller than tidal wave, deep
as a stone skipped along
surface of woven alone
new moon shadows

wounds unwrapped in desert
rooms without walls, a
mourning dream without
regrets

my fingers feel worn some
Wednesdays, mouth dry
from breathing hard, waiting
for new spirits

this is the way the
heart knows to get what it wants
without paying a price
it can’t afford.

(Source: kerrycoxpoetry)

Stained Glass Windows for Atheists

all my shouts subdued into
moodless mourning
saving the empty bags
the broken glasses
for a garden 
of sighs delivered
one at a time, seeding
a new freedom.

glue and sin and books
and food and bruise and fruit
and the needles you buy to
inject the hidden music
like a first aid kit
for the blind.

incomplete sentences i 
worry you might read and 
discuss and decry and destroy
like old news, the inside skin
brittle as banjos
selfish as sleep.

wanting, excising, defining 
the dreamlike dangers, the knives
and buildings and children
that don’t hear the sirens
sick with solitude and symptoms
without names.

feeling orphan myself i drop
to knees and lower, burnt by 
my own finite flames and 
flecks of ash, spark, ignited
by the coldest skin i’ve
ever seen.

let me dress and maybe
undress your wounds, sew up
the holes, make a haven for 
old scars to simply say
what they came
to say
and fade
away.