i fell into myself as if on happenstance there is so much there to pluck apart. Drown me for hours, i will arise, refreshed, the fatherhood scrapled off; myself, too much in the mind for all but virginity; Myself, arising like the tide.
Category: poetry
poem: i like abandoned spaces
i like abandoned spaces where people once were and now are not were mist comes in violence over the frolicking dead. but they are inverted space, blanks, where i can breathe; their dead ancient souls are closer to mine then the souls of the living this hot, heavy population that fills up my chest like… Continue reading poem: i like abandoned spaces
poem: when i say, mother
when i say mother, the depression is back she does not see how i can be stripped as a person and made whole as a writer both of it, all at once, like some black eulogy cut along my wrists and my fingernails the pen lines in my skin so pretty in print
poem: introspection
can we consider the importance of introspection, carefully, our minds lavvied in milk sunlight and the webs and weeds lolled about our fingers; the rats and things now in our pupils, now in our dusty, heavy eyelids caught down by the bedsheets, the watery linen sheets, the edges still stained with the heat of our… Continue reading poem: introspection
poem: the best thing i can be is lonely
the best thing i can be is lonely the boy next to me has scars on his lips where something was forcibly ripped out i think it was maybe my mental edge i think we're maybe soulmates, that his black finger nails are meant to prick at my skin but then he stands up and… Continue reading poem: the best thing i can be is lonely
poem: fifteen feathered souls
fifteen feathered souls like pebbles in my hand and i lick them slowly: bloody little gravestones carved into red pebbles carved into my hands: when i tip my palms the blood comes drooling out
poem: i held a peach carcass in my hand
i held a peach carcass in my hand: the wet, warm body above the streets where rain-soaked cars flung themselves like missionaries across the rain-soaked plastic globe, the one that once lived in my mother's attic, before i destroyed her. i put my bloody fingers in my mouth and watch the flesh drip like rain… Continue reading poem: i held a peach carcass in my hand
poem: what is this last breathe
What is this last breathe, like the song that was the first song she heard, when, crouched in the bushes she undid herself for the book in her hands, and the boy in her soul, who is now many miles away, who is now, slipping himself into pages, into the fainter spots between bleeding ink,… Continue reading poem: what is this last breathe
poem: heathcliff
come out of hatred like a bloom and a dark peat bone rattling over grays and graves and the gravity of it because the lily is dead your soul is dead, flown away before ever cleansed I can kiss the heather over you but I find a caste where all the marble has drained… Continue reading poem: heathcliff
poem: come like death
come like death unto my sex—I would take your eyelash in my—stomach as the light heaves down over blue taunt hills as sheets well up in my—fingers like glass the cracking of your breath along my legs the cracking of my rosary on the hospital—floor fallen like a child’s fingernails— the fingernails dimpling— into my… Continue reading poem: come like death
