Con AmoreCicada violinists,and champagne flutesbrushing lips:an autumn concerto.
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.
DebussyRestless under theclairvoyant moon—dreams quiver likecandlelight againsta long-lost muse.
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.)
1,001 NightsIn a land ofdreams and dust:the curve ofa half-hazed sun,devoured.
LiliyaBright-eyed,bird-bonedwhisper girl;dark-dressed,moon-backedmistress of light.
AsphodelA beckoning:watercolour sky shrinking,too late, teeth fall; pearlsfrom a broken string.Blink and the moon ignites—but the sheets are stillenvelope-stiff.
PompeiiDrumbeat from above;trailed by ragged, ashen dogsfed only Vesuvius’ shadowuntil the heavens split—sodden map becomespapier-mâché fingers andfrom afar, through a veil of rain,a chorus: the mournful dogs howl,cursing the gods.
Prelude Nocturne;I conjure the moonas dusk crests, a wave across the sky I am lovely and lonely in the night, shadow- shackled to the mountainsideand the mothsunfurl their hamsa-wings asmama calls me in.
NymphTranslucent asa dragonfly wing—her hair fansin the water, andthe sun bleeds.
stomachedyou blush and bruisewith sidewalks, stones,the quiet doorways in your thighsand the weight of your purpletongue against mine(a carnival of teeth)if you swallowed the moonwith your agate jaws,you could not be more nacreousor divine
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.
NaPoWriMo- Day 5She used to try and catch butterfliesuntil she realized their beautyrubbed off on her fingers;but she will always be loving youwith those digits.20 years from nowwhen even the love on her armsis unrecognizable.
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.
enduring biopoiesis getting over it in quick gasps of rabbit fur and valley tangles we would have had such darling alcoholic babies together swilling burgundy, strung out on fake roses floating on our sun-striped backs but we're so happy like this, remember? some world-children cutting out, tuning in yet nothing happens
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.
lovesong for sailorboyRead aloud and explained (somewhat) here.i have always loved words as you love the seabut i have grown to hate prepositionsbecause i have always had wordsabout youwith youto you--but never for you.words for everything except you.but i have words for this, soi'll take them one by one.about.the ocean was your first love andi could always see it in your eyes.most would call them blue--justblue like a swell over a sandbarblue like the spring sky over a poppy field.but i don't think anyonegot as close as i did and they're not bluenot shorebound andsafe--they're gray like the steelbellied sea itselflike the horizon at dawn as itencircles youhems you into an impossibly vast canvaslike a demarcation lineor a promise. one you always chased.with.maybe i had a streak of ocea
sometimes i forget how to breatheAn overwhelming need to shut myselfunderwater and drink in my inevitabledeath. Crawl out to shore and gaspout apologies while tending to cut knees,but leave the internal damage. Find somethingto tether me to the ground, clutch itbetween pruned and shaking hands.Water drips off my nose, down my arms,plinks into the puddle in my lungs.I am drowning on dry land, chokingon the irresistible thought of you.
unfilteredii’d tell you I hated youif you had a voice or a face,or any sense of tangibility asidefrom the spider fingers you useto crawl through my brainyou are not beautiful, likeall the other poets protest. youare the red in my eye, likea pen bled; the ragged tomy fingernails, the hitch of my breathwhen it catches in my throat.iibefore i go, i’ll write a million letters (a millionpennies for my thoughts, bitter, embeddedunder my tongue) and send them to peoplei’ve never met, telling them how my eyes were bluewhen i was little but now are the same grayi’m choking on, how i am maddie and how that’s shortfor a name i was never graceful enough for, howi tell myself stories of lives i’ll never live so ican go to sleepbecause when i’m really gone, that’s all that’ll be leftof meiii(it’s funny what peopletry to justify with words)ivyou never loved me,you selfish thing, i wonder whyi wasted so many nights relivin
alienthe flagrant impossibility,the undeniable otherness of you(ineluctable and rawas a cracked egg,a sunrise)glints in every turn of your eyes.you are a universeunto yourself,a system of Heavenly bodiesheavy with influence:planets whir at your fingertips,massive andsubatomic.I wonder how you see me:as a dispassionate judge of the cosmos,my actions a blur in a sea ofequal and opposite?or—do I excite you?do you ponder thecomposition of my atmosphere,the molten heat at my core?do you ever,for a single, measured moment,forget your stationand allow yourself to be pulledinto my gravity,playing electron to mynucleus:barely there, nearlyunmeasurable,jumping energy levels,juggling photons?if this is true,I also knowthat when you remember yourself,pulling the threads of myriad orbitstighter about you,there is an electric sort of magic in your gazewhenever it meets mine.
the inchoate incarnate it's a perfect night to be let go by the militia of our incoherent tumblings; dry like yellow moss percolating through urban automata. how many sublime forests will burn with the charred quietude of our relative sobriety? & how many neuroses can you cure wasting away beneath a weltering sea
we're all drunk and always have beennoi haven't felt smaller than this beforeand it could bebecause i don't breathe poetry inand out -inand out,inand out -i write it under my eyebrowswith the precisionof a drunk snipertoasted into admissionwith irony s-st-tutter-eringdown his throat.you wouldn't take a damned bullet for me.beautiful is a word keptfor the riseand fallof her tidal chest,not my shallow breath,not my sunset, heartfelt,hollow silhouette.i would have disappearedbetween your accusing index andneglected thumb -rub me,rub me?rub herrub herdon't you feel calmer?noi haven't felt smaller than thisbefore.i haven't felt smaller than this beforeand it could bebecause you found a home betweenher stroking index andcomforting thumb -i haven't forgotten,no, i still remembernow twenty two penumbrae in the pastdidn't stop mefrom settlingin one of several crevassesat the bottom of your oceanic mind;you may have forgotten,and slept inon the details,but i haven't,not yet,not ye
ghostwriterhere, everyone’s pupils are dilatedand skin is stretched too tightto expose the wind-swept spider webswrithing beneath their porcelain composurehere, the shadows are afraid of us.(and it is our desireto finally come down to that placeof completionwhere wearesimple skeletonswith bleachedbones anddetached jaws)at night, the rigid ghosts rock me tosleep. their cardboard hearts andinky eyes just begging to be seen(it is only in thedarkness that I amperceived to be morethan I am; holynightlight, exaltedstar to guide themall homesleepily butsteadily blinkingout.)the current carries my name,I have spent too littletoo long on rivers thatonly flow southI vomit up saltwater andtry to remember,forget
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost, kissing stylish arsonists + I still love every sky escaping from your lips
OceaniaI accidentally married youone day during the low tide.my sympathies were at a low ebbwhen you,sea princess, gutted me withseaweed fingers, shrunk meuntil a tide pool heldall the romance,all the pooled possibilitiesof the ocean.
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
a letter for someone who hates thinkingin the beginning i wrote poemsabout death and darkness andthe complex metaphysical arithmetic in whichthat would equate to the love i carried for you,beneath the headaches brewing like bruisesbetween my eyes, my ocean eyes;even after convincing me the planetswere dead gods, powerful skeletons withinternal expiration dates and the starswere their lingering parables, their storiesblinking out years before we were born, i knewyou were a nuclear angel, atom bombsavior sent to save me fromme.there is no more mysteryin the world. i sent youfive letters to the PO box you told meabout in florida, the firstwas a catalogue of everyangsty song lyric or campy postcardor description of a flowercrooked in just the right waythat reminded me of you,the second was a retellingof every dream i woke fromforgetting who i was, the thirdwas an apology-- i'm sorryfor who i'm not and who youneed and that your dad alwaysreeked of bacardi, i'm sorryfor my bukowski-wannabe complex a
MizpahThe crying windbrings adeluge:lostand blurred atthe edges,youbecomeawhisper.
NaPoWriMo 3-Featured:Here by *imaginative-lionessThank you!