POETRY
All poetry written by Benjamin Gerzik.
Blue Skies
The sky hasn’t fallen—
It’s hanging,
The storm’s gone,
It’s turned blue,
Swaying in the wind.
Its stench is now the air,
There was no stay of execution,
It died off the docket,
Before it could be born.
Eyes strain through the columns—
Ordaining,
The world’s gone,
It’s turned pew,
Sitting on its hands.
It’s wrenched back to the chair,
There was no stay of execution,
It died off the docket,
That rough beast must now be born.
Kissing statues rotting,
Marble back to cotton,
The sky’s outside the window,
Waiting to be cut down.
2022
Smoke’s Rising
You’ll sharpen the moon, robbing blades of their dew,
Misty-eyed monster with clouds tight in hand.
You’ll harken to clues you’d never let loose—
Our smiles burning quick from both ends.
2018
Reveries
The leaves float by, wrinkled dreams of skies,
Of a season too early to mourn.
The moon scrapes high, sharpens clouds for eyes,
Would-be mothers plead fall to be born.
The leaves turn dry, gnarled streams whir wry,
The chill licks the clouds clean ‘til they’re shorn.
The sun asks why, needles razor bright,
Winter whispers sweet somethings ‘til morn.
We trace faces in clouds—test their veins—
But do we pity the sky when it rains?
2023
In my Stomach
Butterflies flap their wings
Into them return all things
Nothing good lasts forever
And forever’s coming
I’ve seen things die, I’ve watched them grow
There’s some things I’ll never know
Like if something good could last forever,
And forever’s coming
I’ve seen her dive, I watch her soar
Now my nerves swell when I’m alone
Hoping something good could last forever
And forever’s coming
I see those wings, purple and green,
Feel the breeze return all things
Something good might just last forever
And forever’s coming
2020
Pithy
Some things only get harder with time:
Flowers grow angles as they wilt,
Diamonds burn from coal and silt,
And you’re made from pith, lime.
You’d watch me grow and I’d watch me die.
I’ve found out I’m no stranger to lies.
A silver tongue’s near mercury,
No stranger to perjury,
Laughing as the truth dies.
I knew you before I knew myself.
I’m always an inch away from you,
A desperate weed in your garden,
Waiting, begging to harden,
To be torn from numb roots.
I’d sift through your hands to be held again.
Some things only get harder with time:
Your love was always so easy.
You bloomed; I’m but a seedling
Lying under dirt and grime.
I think this will never be easy,
And that’s why I need you to need me.
2020
cruel and kind
Excitement's burning a hole through my chest
Blessings masquerade as chance
Cruel and kind
Cruel and kind
I can't stop shaking and there's fire under me
Like there hasn't been in months
Smoke's pluming out my mouth like a proud bird
Unrehearsed but all too prepared
My mask's slipping and the ball's halfway through
An open bar with a nice tender
Cruel and kind
Cruel and kind
The coal in my throat's under pressure and I can feel it hardening
Grinding its way up like a tortilla chip after a long night out
And hell, it might just be a diamond
I'll find out when I clean up in the morning
My muscles are burning and I don't remember using them
Maybe I'll be stronger tomorrow
Cruel and kind
Cruel and kind
My nerves chew their way out of my stomach
Like a frenzied coyote
Who'd rather bleed out at home than in a trap
Even if he can't quite make it there
I've got a one year chip on my shoulder
But I'm brushing the crumbs off my chest
Cruel and kind
Cruel and kind
2018
Wild Things, Wildly
You were never too quiet,
Even when grey-eyed,
And you’d never once hide it, too.
You were always a riot,
Ever too green-eyed,
Noncompliant, defiant, too.
And you turned back green on the day I’d grieve,
Grew golden, fair, renewed
By the trees we shaved and the times unsaved,
Left vibrant and unpruned.
Now I love wild things wildly,
Count back our days decisively,
Wailing through wonders unwound.
Moons caught wading through coral,
Weird fish swimming in circles—
When did your eyes turn so blue?
2020
Quiet Things, quietly
I was always too quiet,
Even when I cried,
And you always denied it, too.
I was always compliant,
Even when dry-eyed,
A suppliant you worshipped, too.
Still you turned leaf on the day I’d leave,
Burnt golden, red, imbued
By the teeth we clanged and the plots that caved
Right in on me and you.
Now I love quiet things quietly,
Count back our days decisively,
Recall and repent single-breathed.
Fractions turn entirety,
Shard back into finery,
Smaller, contrived, bereft.
2020
teething
I cut my teeth on diamonds,
I write godless hymns—
Toes curled up in rapture,
Glazed eyes growing dim.
I stretched so thin in ascension
I snapped back into place;
I’m sweating through the pews,
Sinking past your grace.
2017
Bored at the Altar
Clouded windows, severed hands
Clasped in remembrance
Shattered feet run regal, drenched,
Dry like a riverbed,
A skinless head on a skinful neck
Erect and frozen, trained even in death
Two more hands, one clutching, one holding
Striated, limp, creating, destroying,
Holding onto all things left flowing.
My God is frozen.
My God is thawing.
He’s caught in the eye as His gyre keeps widening.
My God is growing.
My god is tiring.
His bags grow heavy with each breath he’s denying.
He’s denying his hardest,
A paintless artist,
Holding a match while he’s burning his carcass,
Calloused and thoughtless,
His justice is lawless,
It just takes small mistakes to get left burned and unaltered
I’m bored at the altar.
I’ve heard all the sermons.
The stained glass is worn out and I can’t see any colors.
But still, all those murmurs—
A broken church doesn’t need any lecterns.
The congregation’s the pastor,
No children are bastards,
White light flows in past the memory of rafters.
Maybe there is no hereafter;
Maybe the soul is just plaster;
My God is frozen in rapture.
2018
Whiskers
Cold, cold whiskers, fraying, falling, fragile
In the air, filtering our light like dust.
Time is over; it does not unravel,
Slow, stall, bend for men like us. It is up.
The golden light shears your graying features,
A glorious, glorious remembrance
Swells, beats away, collapses in seizures,
And leaves a husk, a broken resemblance.
A boy plays in the mud, jeans too new
To whisker away like us. Not yet.
His brother, in the river's soaking pew,
Holds a prize, new whiskers gleaming in sweat.
Together now the brothers rest, too grown,
Whiskers gone, whiskers growing, alone
2017
A Raisin in fluorescent lights
My therapist told me to bite into a raisin and feel nothing else
Its wrinkles feel like chapped lips,
Its juice tastes like spit after a cheap flavored cigarillo
Without the nicotine or the regret
Or the potential
Mid raisin I realize I only use these similes as crutches
My experiences limping into themselves
In a crowded hallway
Like ghosts in a hospital with all of the lights on
Trembling in fear of pure raisin-ness
2018
To Florence, to live*
It's like living out a past life here,
Ghosts coo-ing old forgotten songs in a new key,
Dead lovers woo-ing me all over again.
But now my friends are more than foils—
There's depths to them I don't need to drown in.
Longing only for more time instead of substance.
Substance is something sacred now.
The air here reminds me of home.
Unremarkable, but easy to breathe.
I can breathe easy.
A deep sigh and a sharp inhale,
Time folds over like cream.
2018