summer poetrywrite something pretty...
I'll mail the best 5 dollars.
I'm serious.
back in a week.
for Kahori, who i named myself
Newest
I, the joyous onen the spring, when the walls swelled with rain that our teachers once promised would bring flowers, we lied on the concrete floors of my basement and i traced the lines of her fingers up unto her neck.I, the joyous one
inside that house i was sure that we were going to change the world. and that we could change it if only we had enough conviction, if we read enough books, if we laughed enough.
i was sure that she had a plan for the end of the world, and when the bombs dropped we would take cover inside our cellar. carryin
by ~xtape
Pushing FatimaPushing FatimaPushing Fatima
It was fall then. and snow had just begun to sweep the street lights, the waves at Edgewater Park opened to swallow the stone walls, the ones
we used to jump between
after church.
Inside, we passed notes between compacts, which the Sr. Marion warned would steal our souls: the 7th deadly sin.
Here I saw you, decorated by some ancient priest, in a respectable dress,
one that was years old. Your fingers
curled around the third decade
From a classroom I could see your lips moving in a stiff struggle of du
by ~xtape
Keeping up in Washingtonit was somewhere before Astoria,Keeping up in Washington
where you only needed to lift you chin to point out where
we ought to go.
this old fashioned face
broke midnight with a light
that is only seen in pictures
of childhood birthdays and perfect first communions.
under this quiet western sun i waited in only
woolen stockings, allowing the field mice
to swim beneath my curled chest.
i knew children
would have walked the state if you lifted a hand and promised it was safe.
still, i waited
broken thighs in octo
by ~xtape
Favourites
parts i and ii-parts i and ii
i.
weather was ever
so sedate
just yesterday
while sharing
morning star and songbird:
so destroying the sky seemed
later as lots
of itself gone
hidden behind
the grayness,
that traffic of clouds to havoc a hotness as lightning,
to go on
rattling and arriving &
by !warblytwitflizz
If a Lion Could SpeakThe world churns this body, has been my whitish ipecac, like a big tongue in the gut, has made me hurtle words.If a Lion Could Speak
I’m a refinery, a plant that shits beauty. I’m tired and frightened, that is depression, I’ve said it before. Nothing is everything is love, and no great love for the man inventing.
Touch me off, go back to the aether, monkey fist, half-hitch, noose. Love is a sandpaper, it smooths corners, it bevels edges, it makes dust of us,
finally we go back to the wind. Every ribcage is a ladder with rungs of bone.
by ~boundlessgravity
CleansingI saw the news today Something internally displaced deep in my gut. It is not considered good behaviour to cry in Sudanese culture. But Even the uncremated dead have no peace and their orphaned children cry for fucking water. The images will not lie down and die and words are no longer enough.Cleansing
All I want is to go home Home is not the place I thought: an accessory to rape, torture, murder while the world scans the newsreels with an apathy so intense it burns the skin of those
who walked for months from fear to fe
by ~futilitarian
Brown Avenue DawnBrown Avenue DawnBrown Avenue Dawn
A gas heater, cigarette To warm and fuel, And coffee that serves both purposes;
Redundancy in comfort items, as
Outside they are tearing up the sidewalks; Bulldozers and barking dogs And my only concern Is that they will wake her up From curled limbo.
Sunshine parallelograms Through windows at angles That the animals bask in, following The morning’s move across the floor,
While hers drifts and mine digests And all is a syrup bloodstream,
An almost visible tributary Into a saccharine gulf of day
by `nonculture
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You make me feel high on life, when i'm with you i can fly, i wouldn't stop this feeling...from taking over
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good stuff here, and lots of it. i'll be back.
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