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.
IcarusFledgling of thefour-winds; feather-lightagainst ajaundiced sky(dawn is quietwhen the noose istight).
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.
LiliyaBright-eyed,bird-bonedwhisper girl;dark-dressed,moon-backedmistress of light.
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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.
SurrealismThree a.m., andGod is in my bathtubagain—sipping whiskeyhallelujahs;backlit bya freshwater moonin the mother-of-pearl sky.
MizpahThe crying windbrings adeluge:lostand blurred atthe edges,youbecomeawhisper.
NymphTranslucent asa dragonfly wing—her hair fansin the water, andthe sun bleeds.
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.
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.
Xiao HuziYou are born to the sunset of the last day of summer, a titian crown of autumn leaves already in place upon your head. There is a thickness in the air and it drapes itself over your newborn skin; pale flesh mottled by both the luminescence of the orange sky, and the shadows of darkness' steady manifestation. Your head is too heavy to watch the moon rise gently into the heavens yellow and swollen, the mother of night's vast wonders but, perhaps by the touch of her light on your eyelids, you know that she is there. Likewise, some inborn inkling tells you that the stars, late in their nightly awakening, are still shrouded in a heavy dusk blanket. You too are still drowsy, and can empathise with their reluctance to rise. In this vale the birdsong is thick with sleep, trees stand still, slick with wood resin, and there are no beetles amongst the moss to set the undergrowth humming. Even the river has slowed its effervescent churning, calming to an indolent stream. T
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
(c)loves and (c)loversi am no artist's muse, i am no ship's harbor i am no hero's weaker heel, i am no good earth's floweri have never been your lovernor have i ever kissed you,- not even once though i dream of you (c)love-scented, with lips shaped like a lucky (c)lover's- kissing you and to be kissed by you over and overi can never profess,not even confess note: even to myselfi stay standing, (b)raving the cold nights,pretty much batty and bootless yet again, the absence of you weighs metric tons on my ringing ear, shivering nape, and repressed shoulderyou dam(n) me withyour body;you are my river's boulder,untapped territory,and undefined border
Insecuritiesi could tell you a million talesof when i stared into the abyss,and drowned in the thrashing wavesof my own torturous thoughts,that the dark crevices of my mindbegan dragging me undera sea of endless insecuritiesimprinting on my bones.
I'm glad you are aliveI’m learning how to diein every way;leaningon my skull,cradling my stomach,touching for the spacebetween the motionand the skin,feelingafter absencefor a shadowon the wall,unbuttoning the vialsthat elbow out likesprawlingstubble on the world,arising from an ancient sleepin my little corner street,all to ache againwith life,her ministries of moments,with heat beneath my toespushing down upon the planet,expanding like a cloudescapesitself. And after all, it is finethat I have known you.
bookworm“there is no such thingas reading too much.”this is what I tell youwhen you insistthat there is some danger ofbecoming lost in the stuff—mistaking seriphs for serpents,swallowing a story so wholethat its hooksticks in my throat.“there is no such thingas reading too much”I tell you, bold-faced,surrounded by snakeswith a line through my lip.
papertaleshow many nights have you devoured by halflight,a trickling of wordssupped like good linguinisnaking up below your blankets and ringing in your belly, your head is in a book, a book is in your headflickering inside you,stories and fable-yarns, sage sorrel vase-lipped facescast in the ivorybetween veins,and i can see it in your eyes,inhaling after that long time somewhere else, it's been raining for days and only now do you noticehow everything is tastingof silt and crustaceans
the theatreit is a Tuesday afternoonand I observethe proscenium archof your spine.I am separated from youby several degrees,a world and a half,the ornate, sweeping dividebetween watcher and watched(and you've never caredto break the fourth wall)
suffocatesea moved her arms in and out of the light like a bird caught in air and gave up with the ocean's pull that stayed and stayedlifting.-i found nothing to be morebeautifulthan the sea and its lovernight it brings holding theblue as the moon seemedto fall into our eyes nestledin the thick of stars only to crythrashing waves for landto kiss it another more.-the sheets of salt fill my lungsand ripped my heart open to thesuch swelling waves.
snakeI will slough offall my feelings for youlike a second skinfor somebody elseto slip into
insomnia to keep you closefalling asleep with the windowsopen, with morning curlingaround you like a drop of blueink in a glass of water,turquoise and unwritten;remembering when early dawnwas a secret you keptin a soft, aortic pocket—your dead lighter spinningto the floor of Lake Ontario,a halo of its bygone, synergetic flame.
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.
This is the beginning to something else, and as such will probably be added to. -Featured:Here by =AzizrianDaoXrakThank you.