Heath Harrington Poems
|1.||My Mourning Dove||8/3/2008|
|2.||Silver String Orchestra||8/3/2008|
|5.||Orchestra Of The Sky.||8/4/2008|
|6.||Flickering And Flaring||8/11/2008|
|9.||My Eyes Aflame||8/1/2010|
|10.||Sanitarium Of The System||8/4/2008|
|11.||Portrait Of A Memory||8/3/2008|
|15.||Lucid Day Dreams||8/3/2008|
|16.||Castle Of Thought||8/4/2008|
Comments about Heath Harrington
My tears well up, blinding me,
then fall thick upon the cardboard.
The box is flecked wet.
It is the last, it's over. The tape screams out
as it speaks for me. I use a black magic
marker on this, the last of the boxes; its sweet and sour
scent fills the air. I mark this one fragile. A weight
perches upon my chest waiting to devour any breath
that may be left under my ribs. A burning darkness
dwells there now, after seven years
of smiles and laughter. Divorce comes,
I see you bright and shining,
Flush with fresh ...
My Mourning Dove
I remember the day you left me,
the sweet smell of first bloomed tulps
filled the air and moist droplets of dew
slid down each of my toes. I carried you
through the morning mist, you were warm
I felt the hair on my arms rise and fall, a
static somba, this was it.
Time to let go.
my chest sank under the wave of fear.