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
Tag: poetry
quote: dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." —Edgar Allen Poe [x]
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
poem: stretched across the hotel bed
Stretched across the hotel bed is Axl Rose with his chin gathered up in clinical Defiance his arms and legs are Tangled up in bitterness And the white sheets which Still have my skin cells lined into them from Last night only cover Half his chest and the other part Is purely muscle and hard… Continue reading poem: stretched across the hotel bed
first poem: the last pavilion
Even the cutting is in place and the lattice constrains her like a corset like white hands among white satin tying her hair up for the providence ball; and later, uglier hands untying the same ice curls for the providence music in the dark Still, she is the rose garden even with this music, even… Continue reading first poem: the last pavilion
the last pavilion 