Projections in blue by Gabriel Hart

Gabriel Hart, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

A starlet’s face on a confectionary body holds a heart and mind of stillborn innocence

paralyzed in puppy love with me ‘til the surrender of silence, a decade fermented in imminence 

you earned your aging woman voodoo

I focused on closer context, was shocked into 

submission, your soul and image

I stumbled out of my armor to commit Seppuku

disembowling me with the pierce of your glare

giving myself completely to you

(isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?)

surrendering, you don’t see the threat of finish

by extinguishing every nagging beware

 

I gave my eyes to you ‘til I was blind to you

perceiving your calm 

as disinterest 

as detachment

as I waved my arms in panic

there was so much I could teach you though it’s not by job to feed you all the deficit of nourishment threadbare

 

how many times can I make you cry oceans to further sever our touch?

when you “like” somebody it’s not just anybody

by definition: of the same body

this salt water will never quench our thirst

so, before you claim to love me

you should decide if you like me first

 

those who call others “their person” and then wonder what happened when they didn’t enter with the same abandon get abandoned with no fault to the one who flees

they simply rise from their knees running back to the hills to rewild their own chest still bleeding

 

A swelling part of me fiends for the friction, your bare ass displayed on the Internet, yet so clearly out of my jurisdiction 

I must default to see it artful, a human being still being sculpted 

without demanding this elusive itch must have a culprit

 

I love you because you’re more powerful than you’ll ever know 

and I know because you wouldn’t let me show you

I asked you what your love language was

you said, “Dolly Parton.”

okay, I can’t compete, fair enough

 

I don’t even care that you don’t read my books

but can this be the first part of me 

you might read in its entirety?

since I bow to your penchant for gay porn mags, 

cutting them up for your phallic collages 

processing your traumas as you celebrate the form of man

 

I had to cut myself out for survival’s sake and I hope one day you’ll understand

 

We were two puzzle pieces — the hardest ones to find: 

the Sky

but you kept flipping

your fits turned repelling, 

threatening our sheer will to survive

now, among all the strays

every shape an emotion

which leaves one last thing between us

an ocean