1,001 NightsIn a land ofdreams and dust:the curve ofa half-hazed sun,devoured.
AsphodelA beckoning:watercolour sky shrinking,too late, teeth fall; pearlsfrom a broken string.Blink and the moon ignites—but the sheets are stillenvelope-stiff.
ApsaraFind me sunken into thelotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,waist-deep and pinkin sunset, and we will cry:for three-faced elephants,for rain,for the dancers threading gracebetween their fingertips—until I dress in the heaviness,a sarong of heat.
Odessai.Gumusservi—Like this, you come tome; moonlight on water,a desert mirage, onlysalted,wave-restless andshimmering.ii.In dawn, you areaglow: the sun becomesyou—a wisp of dream, likesmoke, remains.
NymphTranslucent asa dragonfly wing—her hair fansin the water, andthe sun bleeds.
LiliyaBright-eyed,bird-bonedwhisper girl;dark-dressed,moon-backedmistress of light.
MuselingRed wine ramblescurdle the air, but stillyou dream; half-moonbody curled in thelamp light. I am leaving,I am leaving, choking onsome holy word—the floorboards creak,a sonata for mychangeling shadowwhilst you, hair tangled uponthe pillow, are spun gold.
Little FuryThe storm throws you to my door, drenched and bloodied, god-light dimmed. The crest of the hill is underwater. You have no boots. Morning dawns cold, clear, a watery gold. You are gone.
IcarusFledgling of thefour-winds; feather-lightagainst ajaundiced sky(dawn is quietwhen the noose istight).
MizpahThe crying windbrings adeluge:lostand blurred atthe edges,youbecomeawhisper.
Sundropo n some days I watch you rise and ragewith a new yearfirework fervour–untamed and glorious,pulling the years togetherwith a snap of your fingers.but some days you are languid,stretching like the summer dustingof freckles along your forearms, theslumberous strands of hair shutteringyour sky-eyes from the morning light.on these days, I think the earth spinsslower and the birds sing a littlequieter. on these days, I lookat you and I think:sundrop.
SehnsuchtOctober again;and the curtains billowwith broken glass echoes andMendelssohn's bride waltzingto better times(einzweidrei)She becomes the rain,and breaks her own heart as the sounddripsright through us.
O FevraleWitching hour, welcomed with a sigh,bare-breasted and ink-stained in the night.Half in love in this half-life half-light;pisat O Fevrale navsnryd, dreamingof the gods. Wanderer, today I died anddied again, and whispered prayersto clasped hands… until the nestleddroplets fell away like sunrays at dusk;and when moonrise came, I sang again.
The WindblownLike a sparrow, you perch; toes curled and brown eyes wide, arms tinted blue with cold. In my haste to reach you I trip upon your shoes, tiny little things still drizzle-damp and abandoned at the door. "What are you doing?!" Your legs stretch for summers as you stand, dress billowing from you like a white flag of surrender. "Ava, come inside. Come inside. Please." You stare past my outstretched hands and step away—a sparrow, caught in a downdraft.
Van GoghSlip intothe first vestige ofmorning, theblush of a summer'sday already aglowalong you—your silhouetteglistens, an aureoleof molten goldas sunflowers puddleat your feet.
MythosThe Hunter Orion's prey— a sky of fleeing stars: dawn.Chiron Sagittarius: the archer's arrow, piercing eventide.
Constructionand the sweetest silencewas the loudestdissonancethe bones of Babylonhave crumbled insidethese limbsand my tonguedisintegrates wordsrather than lettingtheir sound hissthroughmy teeth-now black with sootand ash.my body was never a temple-it's a construction sitewhere the frameworkclings onto sunlightand shivers in the rain,leaving me paleand fragile,cracked on every keratinsurface;despite the amber skiesin these eyes,there are ghost imprintsin these lashes.
we were found beneath the seai've been meaning to tell you(i swear i have)i'm hopelessly addicted to throwingmessages in bottlesand losing themtothe milky way.i had once thrown them across the mid--length of seasbut then you wouldfind them,read themand leave them,much like the nights you foundrhythm in mymetronome sheets.i found your messages(i swear i have)i'm tired of shooting seagullsto protectand watch them flytothe milky way.i had once chased them shouting mid--length of the seabut then you wouldwrite a letter,throw it to me,and windowsill sit,much like the night you foundpoetry on myscarred stomach.and then i found verses(i swear i didn't mean to)tattooed belowmyfloating ribs.i thought you stoppedyelling metaphors to keep meafloat thesewater-galaxy-borne messagesin rundownwine bottles.i just thought you'dstop painting your dreamson my saltyskin.i wrote fabricated honesty(i swear i didn't mean to)surfing belowyourfloating ribs.i wanted to whisp
NautilusIthe rest of my life should be earlymornings; when God is still sleeping.I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,pearlescent, like the primordial ammonites.III follow you every night-the hunter shooting at the celestial bull,shimmering crusts of bread through the dimmest lands of passage.Suggesting a way home.Home, or across the ocean,or everywhere under the moon if,early mornings, when God still sleeps,I wake up warm in the corner of the sofa,and you are not an idea anymore.IIIthe rest of my life should be earlymornings; when God is still sleeping.I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,pearlescent, like the primordial ammonites,shedding my scales in the wash basin;to, gleaming, climb back into bed,turn off the stars.I shouldn't dream anymore.Good morning.
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -from the magic lights of New Yorkto moonshines in Georgia,until the colors dissolve.The anxious poetry of autumnmade a memory of me.Here’s to things I take for granted:September blues,chasing airplanes,country road thunderstorms.Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.October, I follow you;I thought I saw you on the shorewhere the river runs through goldon the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -or perhaps Pittsburgh(it was the lights I guess).Here’s to the things we leave behind:sunbeams in November,letters addressed to no one,poems, wounds, dead birds.I’ve got that summertime sadness.Maybe you’re gonna come back;we’re changing our ways, taking different roadsand loneliness knows me by namebut October, I follow you;without you I’m a winter heart,a love story you don’t want,a November shade of grey hunting ghostsin cities that sleep inside our heads.You told me you lied the night you kiss
hallelujah .:commish:.Storm--and the desert inhales,inebriated on an atmosphere thickwith electricity and promise.Each tiny daylight isa new rapture.They tremble.
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost, kissing stylish arsonists + I still love every sky escaping from your lips
sun worshipand we, the broken-winged disciplesthrum closer, closer--seeking warmth on our dust-drenched backs,and reflections,and a landmark in the wide and opendark.we breathe,together(closer)--moths among the fireflies.
artist's dawnhalf past fourmellifluous silence hung buoyanton gossamer skiesshe painted the sun litheand lissom strokes brushing spacewith sunrise bursting from her fingersshe perspired morningbrow beading imaginationof clean towel cloudsand citrus sunlightdallying
combatantI.it strikes methat this womancould be a palace.I marvel atthe opulent dome ofher brow, her archexpression—skin like a courtyard ofivory tiles,a thousand intersectinggolden lines about herhead and neck.she beams from atop hersunlit tower,beatific and beautiful,spreads her arms likeopen doors,invites you to be one ofthe manywho have wandered herlavish halls.II.I’ve often thoughtof myselfas a castle:all rough-hewn stoneand turrets,a temper like moltentar.my head is crownedwithembattled parapets,weapons readiedat the crenels.I look out from myguerites, my brattices,eyes like arrow-slitsand a murder-holefor a mouth.III.I wouldn’t blame youfor choosing herover me—for regarding my fortressas too daunting,for deciding easy acceptancebetter befit youthan proving your worth—I could forgive youfor being a coward.but you swam the moat,killed the guards,scaled the battlements,demolished my fortifications—and
On Wanting Everything to Be RightYou got too comfortable,forgot he could make mistakes,and set your consciousness asideso he could mend the thoughtswhich have remained disorderedin your fumbling sobriety,despite the years of learning to copewith the pace of regularity:scraping the mailbox with his key,dining out every Sunday,setting the thermostat to sixty degrees,and changing despite every effortto remain apathetic about his plans,how your name became a constantin his living equations,the variable which defined the function.On the morning you leave,only your luggage and body will movethrough the summer shadowsof oak leaves shaking in a breeze,and only your barest senseswill know the satisfaction of hearinghis footsteps behind yours,cicadas composing another song,a car door slamming shut,the engine firing up,though your muscle memory isn't enoughto bring you peace or independence,money or place or dignity.When you turn onto Justamere Road,you'll picture the nightstandon your side of the
rosemaryyou licked your lips when i walked insmelling of woodsmoke. there was a weight in the air, and the empty spacefelt unusually antiseptic.somehow i wasn't surprised to find you perched on the oldrocker granddad had built,your fingers tracing a labyrinth of grain.retracing.your voice surprised me.i sat on the floor,spine rooted to the doorjamb.i let you talk.my eyelids were branded; when i blinkedthe plasma echoes of the flames licked over your sharp edges.cheekbones,jawline.the moon hung low and weary and it seemed too light, still,to ask you to leave. hospitalityhas always been measured in lumen. so i heard not your wordsbut the erratic rise and fall of inflection,and remembered the way the fire sucked through the perforationsin the washing machine drum. feeding.there was a brief insistence in your tone, and istarted paying attention again.the question you swore you'd never ask.'can i stay?'i looked away from you then,through the window,and all i saw was a sto
Alla RabiosaScorpio's tail slips low—a mari usque ad mare:from sea to seaover me, a devil in the sky above;and the Huntresspeels dawn like an orange.(Fling meamongst the stars:the Mad Queen's cosmic mirage.)
Venom & a golden chalice.