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.
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.
LiliyaBright-eyed,bird-bonedwhisper girl;dark-dressed,moon-backedmistress of light.
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.
IcarusFledgling of thefour-winds; feather-lightagainst ajaundiced sky(dawn is quietwhen the noose istight).
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.)
SurrealismThree a.m., andGod is in my bathtubagain—sipping whiskeyhallelujahs;backlit bya freshwater moonin the mother-of-pearl sky.
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.
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.
DrizzlingThe grey glaze of apre-dawn chorus —blackbirds,and an overcast aubade.
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
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.
(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
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.
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.
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.
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)
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.
differentyou have inked yourselfbetween the very atoms of my being. you curl around my blood cells in tendrils offountain pen tearsand when i hear the splat of liquid by the heels of myfeet, i know that youare here to stay.they say that there are 206bones in the human bodybut if you ever found out,you'd simply say -what is the importance of boneswhen there's a soul fluttering around inside this flesh?you always saidthat science was pretentious.
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.
snakeI will slough offall my feelings for youlike a second skinfor somebody elseto slip into
rock bottom, ocean floorhalf-past a different kind of brokenon sadness, she wrote: blind fool in the umbra bury yourself in me on the other side of lonely and by god, i love you (maybe i will be a landfill) everyone i meet looks for a place to stay;out of the woods, on wet roadsunder wind, under rain -i'm so far awayno wonder it took him 1455 pageswaiting for her to come this waytramps like us- in lieu of emptiness in absence of a poem wander, wander (pour a little salt, we were never here)your heart was a broken sailorfishing for hearts with lace and not netting;into the deep end of our storyi saw god leaving the shore
Wildflowers, Imperfect BirdsI breathed your name like wildflowers under vast broken skies, in wide-open spaces. The wind blowing through them spoke of dew and dirt and petrichor, and there was sunlight on the ground like a mosaic patterned by god's own hands.I said it like a monarch claiming new land: a declaration, a butterfly breath over old earth; like it was coffee on a warm morning with the sun in my eyes, interlacing with my lashes; like it was a dream; like it was a prayer like it was a miracle wrought of air and bone and body: you, in, out, in, out, in and in and in.I cried it out like an earthquake between lip and lip, continents that don't quite fit: your name, a fault line that doesn't know how to apologize.And I whispered it like it had grown nothing where there should've been feathers, no wings to fly it on, like my lips were the nest it would always call home.So I breathed it,And I whispered it,And I said it,And I sang it,Like a castle; like a mirror; like it was the big bang and ever
sunflowers.they will see her and they will say,"she was loved, but now no longer.dry earthand paper-pressed sunflowers,she is the vision of a dead summer."
an irrevocable truthi.snowflake child, you are a fine exampleof the incandescence of a human lighteven under innumerable umbrasi see you- ruby and bloomingferociously fighting your wayout of a pile of rubbleii.my anemone, my halothat comely wraps around my moon pithdo not fret if i self-stumble, fumblewith my fingers, and mumble to my toesmy center of gravity is oft frail andmeek to begin withiii.you are lead cause of the diamond flecksscattering about the carbon of my pupilsyou do not leave meyou teach me to besnake-eyed yet shotgun-hearted-a sapphire wanderlust lividfor life and star-gazing sights, you mapconstellations on my freckles and fright iv.look now at how i'll find my lighthouse loverthen tend to some kidsand grow out of my gills and into grey hairsthen tend to some kids with their own kidsand reminisce about friends and phenomenai signed my name on a patch of sky withall on my own exceptthat your hand never left minethat if i were to crumblelike the sandcastle
Stay Dreamingyou are pale in the half-light;all the fire you carry with you in the waking world is doused in the sweetness of your hair across the pillow & your frame insinuating itself in the sheets, in pockets of weight & pools of shadow that say "i am a body", "i am a girl"(vulnerable yet terrifying)& in life you are larger than you seem, thunder & lightning inside colored glass. you are cruel-mouthed but soft-eyed, & brittle queen (you would rather break than bend for me), you are all the lovelier for your frail-boned pride.it is strange how much i see of you when you are not looking back, how i feel as though it is only in moments like these (in not-quite-daylight, in dreaming) that we are truly at peace. for is it not that our natures may be likened to those of sea & sky? were we not born to crash & storm & shriek & boil against one another? (what is the nature of the place where we meet? for i do not believe in the horizon; blue on blue, it can only be an illusion
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.