i won't tell you his name but it's very beautiful still inside my mouth and i could have civilized him and brought that innocence softness of him into everyday candlelight. the places where i go, now, are only places where he smiled at me once but all is fiction and idealized in this locked box… Continue reading poem: foolish games
Tag: the last pavilion
poem: girl standing (abroad)
girl standing in the yellowing light of a foreign classroom with asian fingerprints on the windows and her face turned up to the rippling low green mountains that sneak up to the smog and the blue horizons. she has a red scarf twisted around her neck and her future with the romance pecking at the… Continue reading poem: girl standing (abroad)
poem: four girls dancing
four girls dancing like sun-drenched cats brown hands water between waving afternoon sun men singing to thrumming spices in the air and hair swished carelessly back to black liquid roses limp from young ready passion and even slower winding brown fingers in the heady shimmering noon-hour curling around us like a tightly rolled r the… Continue reading poem: four girls dancing
poem: this is what i am doing instead of writing my paper
five-thousand little fingerprints ringing around the inside of my head. their worth rung out to ladders and crystal dish-clothes where one china plate slipped and shards made blood we all made blood, through the touching singing whispers in my head. called nicely: poetry called cynically: otherness mostly, i say, it is just a trapsing melancholy… Continue reading poem: this is what i am doing instead of writing my paper
writing: untitled november 2018
him: so. her: hi. him: do you want to marry me? her: her: i barely know you. him: so? her: when you come over and say hi to me when i'm working part of me wants to ask you to go buy me a coffee because i'm always tired and i'm dying for a coffee.… Continue reading writing: untitled november 2018
poem: i think at this point
i think at this point i am mostly depraved and like a westward moth just barely breathing through the feathery lips, the science of all civilization shall thicken under me. so that i can break and call it a delicate prestige, a privilege of the girls with color-wine bottles hung from their irises, hung from… Continue reading poem: i think at this point
poem: light snow
in her head he brings her coffee and a small smile, which he places just before her as something young and fragile and maybe delicate. she bites her lips when she smiles back, the cold november in the crinkly spaces of her mittens that scrunch into his black gloves when he takes her hand and… Continue reading poem: light snow
poem: dear 2018
shall i tell you of my womanhood and the unpopular things that leave me sitting alone at parties, the 1960's splashed angrily in my face, and my hands now wet with mascara tears. but i am still not going to graduate school and i still don't want my entire life boxed into a career. i… Continue reading poem: dear 2018
poem: grey early afternoon
i think about him all the time. all of him and what he represents he is in me like smoke and rain even when i don't want him. it is early afternoon and foggy: i am trying but he is still inside me
poem: 1:42 a.m.
i make up all the wonderful things he says to me i think he fell into my mouth or maybe my mind and he only came out fictional. i think staring at my black dorm window is unproductive, as if all the lovers are merely out there and waiting like saints in the smoke, while… Continue reading poem: 1:42 a.m.
the last pavilion 