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Literature Text
I found a poem caught
between your knucklebones
like a prayer flag. It carried
the music of mountains; the scent
of summer breeze and pink
lemonade blotting the windowsill
like the soil-stained memories
of childhood mischief we
share. Between the silence
and the taste of citrus sun bearing
down upon the laundry drying
on the clothesline, you let a sigh
slip, dragonfly wings barely resonating
on my skin. Our silhouettes
behind the sheets warmed
the solstice sky while we
gave each other time
to breathe.
between your knucklebones
like a prayer flag. It carried
the music of mountains; the scent
of summer breeze and pink
lemonade blotting the windowsill
like the soil-stained memories
of childhood mischief we
share. Between the silence
and the taste of citrus sun bearing
down upon the laundry drying
on the clothesline, you let a sigh
slip, dragonfly wings barely resonating
on my skin. Our silhouettes
behind the sheets warmed
the solstice sky while we
gave each other time
to breathe.
Literature
ellipsis
she goes to sleep
clawing at her chest with pinpoint accuracy
for an emptiness she can’t describe,
but hates all the same. tomorrow
she will write a letter: “dear boy,
i always wanted to be somebody’s
flowery poem, but the verses carved in my arms
are riddled with ugly clichés. & you are why
i don’t sleep through the night. if
we were a language, i was the
subordinating conjunction, you were
the punctuation.
i remember you in staccato
conclusions, solemn absences
of goodbye”
Literature
VOGUE
she sits
heaving on the bathroom
floor on sunday nights like
it's in style to have rotten teeth
and bloodshot eyes
and all 206 bones on display like
a natural history exhibit
(in fifty years they will line
up before your corpse to see
the girl who had to ring
Death's doorbell exactly seven
times before he opened the door)
trees shiver in winter
until all the snow scatters
to the ground and they are left
bare and naked like skinny
children left on the side of the road.
snow crystallizes in my hair until
it is stiff and white. i miss the days
when the sky was black at night
instead of faded grey and when
i didn't face nightmares of
carvin
Literature
Serenissima
Slumbering suns
take a midmorning nap;
alleyways bright with
golden ladies,
their smiles canal-deep.
Nightfall brings guides:
stone sighs and dead light,
(never so alive).
Suggested Collections
The mediastinum is the space between your lungs. It contains the heart, aorta, part of the windpipe and esophagus, and many lymph nodes.
A collaboration with IvanRadev, who writes lovely haiku. The first collaboration I've managed to see all the way through
Probably because we were playing fast and loose with it; past collaborations I've tried have gone stanza by stanza, while we went for more of a free verse renga tree thing.
I'd always wanted to do more with Tibet so this was a good excuse
A collaboration with IvanRadev, who writes lovely haiku. The first collaboration I've managed to see all the way through
Probably because we were playing fast and loose with it; past collaborations I've tried have gone stanza by stanza, while we went for more of a free verse renga tree thing.I'd always wanted to do more with Tibet so this was a good excuse
MediastinumI found a poem caughtFave his version too!
between your knucklebones
like a prayer flag. It carried
the music of mountains; the scent
of summer breeze and pink
lemonade blotting the windowsill
like the soil-stained memories
of childhood mischief we
share. Between the silence
and the taste of citrus sun bearing
down upon the laundry drying
on the clothesline, you let a sigh
slip, dragonfly wings barely resonating
on my skin. Our silhouettes
behind the sheets warmed
the solstice sky while we
gave each other time
to breathe.
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Comments21
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Gorgeous imagery.