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Literature Text
the memory of your laugh is an oral tradition
and I cannot release
the dust off my lungs
that you stirred from among long nights
and solemn books.
a philosophical question, innately unanswerable
and just as beautiful, you are
the denouement, fractal and convoluted;
like the Arabian nights
we were once. but you moved on,
personae, boundless
and I cannot release
the dust off my lungs
that you stirred from among long nights
and solemn books.
a philosophical question, innately unanswerable
and just as beautiful, you are
the denouement, fractal and convoluted;
like the Arabian nights
we were once. but you moved on,
personae, boundless
Literature
immolate
the first step
to sadness is to
have.
[3]
poseidon
punctuates the bruised
shorelines with broken hearts and
shattered abelone
shell fragments.
sometimes the
shore creeps up, kisses
my feet. sometimes he rips through
the distance between
us, taking
what's his.
[5]
the air here
vibrates to a fire,
sparrow's heart humming in c
major. it does scare
me sometimes,
how i might love you
more than ibuprofen, or
the way the light might
oscillate
through an ether storm.
the person i am now is
not compatible
with who i
was before you. but
how do i scrape myself out
from under my own
fingernails?
[7]
we caught the
moon
Literature
snowbones
holding my hands over the kettle
the skin on my fingertips peels back,
like dated wallpaper,
like flowers blooming.
they're burning from the inside out,
nails turning to varnish, turning to steam,
bones click-clacking their way out;
spreading like wildfire.
the whistling stops, and
blink
and my fingers are just fingers,
ink stained, bitten nails.
sunlight streams across the kitchen,
my fingers warm and
slightly damp, i trace patterns on
steamed-up windows.
Literature
Subduction
We drip into October
with the silence of spiders
heavy in our chests,
our hearts curling in
on themselves like
leaves in autumn.
Lungs unfurl into the
stillness;
there is a breath, a whisper--
This dying wind whistles
through empty throats,
as if to murmur a warning,
perhaps, that we threaten
to become
earthquakes
along our hipbones.
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Comments35
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Hi - this is just to say, I used the title of your amazing piece in a poem of mine, for #TheTitlePage's contest, over here! If you'd prefer for me not to use it, please let me know, and I'll change it immediately. Thank you! 