shadows of ourselves.

there was meant to be a moment when

you looked back at the wreckage and the

motion of our lives slowed to a crawl, and paused

a carnal beast could be seen climbing, a steady

silhouette from beneath the still life you drew,

with its frozen cast of characters in waiting

you the protagonist, you lying next to the

emotional in our bed, you walking across the floor

to our living room, you writing our story

and you wished to leave the newly

constructed frames, succumbing to whispers

of cruelty and odium, imagined from the depths

there will be regret, but it should not be ours

when time is released from the grasp of

bruised hearts, your character will always turn away

© 4.5.2017 heather brager

in line at the post office.

and here I wait, again

dangling left and lost

imagining intentions somehow aligned

our last error in a string of

unfathomable events compressed

into weeks, dragging us by our limbs

through shadows of time

with our swords at the ready

could we ever resolve ourselves

after the wake of destruction

and remnants of death

could we navigate the maps, and

how could you ever choose

me over twisted synonyms

and the existential loneliness

you covet like fine liquor

but you, an illuminated entrance

pulling me into the hope of

your soft palms, seraphic

lines sliding off of your sharp

tongue, pressed firmly against my neck

slipping beneath my breasts

as much the wind as a wolf,

though it was she who

pushed you back as I threw open

all of the doors, removed my clothes

and for a moment,

obliterated your armor

© 4.2.2017 heather brager

(Art, Lauren Marx)

acting a fool.

we are bound to ourselves

melted styrene fused to fingers

brittle bones soldered to wires, just

marionettes of our own devising

trust is the blanket of nightfall

a backdrop on the stage

hand drawn with silhouettes

stippled across a faraway landscape

then, hot white burning light

brought in quickly to illuminate

oh, darkness we lie, we lie to   

overcome our slippery plots

terror always ends the same, the

same closing credits, same storyline

the same puppets left alone

and the ovation is forgone

© 3.28.2017 heather brager

muddy water.

does she descend upon your

grayscale, or tender

unacknowledged

criterion with need

carefully spelled

in musical interpretation

and intricate visual renderings

does harmony seep through the

dark irises and cochlea, soaking

through to your muscle in

ochre, hemorrhaging sanguine

do you love as deeply

as the outlined concepts, to

bend time over expansive

depths of circumstance, or

do you feel in sepia, and

stop breathing in dreams

© 3.24.2017 heather brager

9:13 p.m.

and the ascent to

your door, inhaling the

shameless dusk that heralds

you, a blade unwavering

wrapping itself around

two pieces carefully

held, hard charcoal and

powder soft chalk, your

words outlined by

panic creeping along the

outskirts, the solid red then

tapping on glass, quiet

steps in the dark sliding

back to warmth, contrast

tied but barely, fused

© 1.23.2017 heather brager

give me two minutes.

what if I am

just running in place

still circling back to our own

familiar and situational tragedy

back to late summer into the fall

the way I let your eyes pin me down

the way your coy hesitation

is still sneaking through my door

back to being drunken on

this spell that ignites

between us as you nervously

remove your jacket, back to you

yielding and shy and tender

while you proceed to grip

my jeans and peel off my clothes

back to me feeling helpless

and you cannot possibly love her

back to I know why you are here

and you are in denial

the way you are circling

like a beautiful wolf, or a

moth to a porch light

back to stop lying to yourself

and what if it is you

back to who deserves this magic

and this is the truth,

not what you go back to

© 12.12.16 heather brager

little white lies.

while we lie awake, nursing

our intrinsic fabrications

each association fragile, subjective

this liquid want with teeth

and confusion with soft skin

just speak the truth, confront

the fear chasing you down

wait patiently for the explanation 

you have already accepted lie, upon lie

then your beautiful face, your arms in total

darkness, indistinguishable from hope,

she can see clearly through

the air that quietly cradles deceit

the soundtrack steadily building,

waiting for the next projection

with vulnerability processed as data

a blatant delusion, of passion becoming

enough, or even something like truth

© 12.1.16 heather brager