I am sick hence the reblogs
1
She arranges the doves nesting
In the folds of her paisley print skirt
Adjusts the daisy behind her left ear
And proffers an otherworldly smile
To every soul in want of intimacy
2
She is wild, lupine, endemic
Her pale thighs clutch my spine
As I accelerate her orbit
Around the moon
I tape quills to the underside of each forearm
In order to simulate flight
–
My heart serves as both inkwell and millstone
Depending on the proximity of my muse
–
There is no catharsis in withdraw
Only the dissemination of sorrow
Through undignified outlets, namely
Crying when one is fearful of sleep
–
When in company my muse surreptitiously plucks
The numerals from every clock within visual range
That I might remain indefinite in confinement
–
She is the residue of every lunar passage
Since the dawn of my existence
She translates my failings into wisdom
There is no drug more permissive than poetry
Martin Stranka
I came again to the same
Untenanted precipice
As a ghost assuming nightly
Those habitual thresholds
Within which they become
A fixture and outside of which
They are completely unimaginable
I was dressed as I had slept
No blood left in my chest at all
And only a few bandages
To address my grievances
Reciprocation is an art
And I haven’t the presence
To proselytize favor.
I have always assumed myself
Insignificant though it is love
That I crave above everything
Even my own life which
Is perishable in comparison
I wanted to live in you
An unbroken vitellus,
A dandelion crown,
A clinging placenta
Possessing the scars
That you, in isolation,
Should not bare them
We were imperfect,
As only lovers
Can be
For my heart alone I hoped
That you would remain
Of this sky, dulcet and chiffon
Those halcyon days
When your cobalt eyes
Aligned to the curvature
Of my smile and held
Accordingly
The asphalt stretches
Beneath your sullied shadow
Bereft of weeds
My fingertips recall
The length of your bones
A fence surrounding all
That was so precious within
Was it the sleuth in me
Or the traitor in you
That abolished our union?
I could forgive anything
If I stood next to you
We were perfect, if only
I cannot talk to you
My tongue arcs up
As a knife darkened
With too much blood
And your ears like
Twin embryos, oblivious
Do not wait for consent
But drink hungrily
Of each wounded hunch
I cannot bare
The immensity
Of my constraint
But worse are those
Parasites which mingle
With the breath
And gnaw obliquely
At our hearts
Once exchanged
We cannot retrieve them
And how they grow
In number, these criticisms
Even when recalled
I hear them still
Like branches
Snapping in darkness
Adrian Borda
A misplaced word or deed
Could render your heart askance
And I would be the lesser for it.
Some believe in finality
But with age comes the routine
Of a diminished certainty
I know now why the sky
Prefers grey in adornment
I depend on the wind
To gather my illusions
And on my will to disperse them
A will that is neither
Brave nor merciful
A will that is erratic at best
I could be is all
That I have ever been
And I imagine you too
Are not as decreed on paper
Such dreams as these
Are too cruel to gift
In conversation
So it is that I keep
My wings folded beneath
A cloak of indifference
Pity me neither this oversight
Nor any concession I might make
In a moment too poignant to bare.
I have not lived in such a way
As to become known or wealthy
What I want is surely too
Abstract to elucidate.
Just as love is not assumed
Congenital in a blade of grass
No matter how sweet or vibrant
(We do not perceive in it a spirit
Beyond the mediocre triumph
Of ritualistic sustainment)
In this very way I too may be
Underestimated for my failure
To conform to assumed variables
If I indulge, I would no doubt
Spend entire days justifying
My queer existential existence
If you had my life to govern
You would ruin it
Like a linen starched until
It serves only as the parchment
Of a more prolific sentient
I do not not propose to know
Everything and indeed I claim
Very little in regards to you
Still I know better myself
My flaws effect me directly
As do my fears and virtues
And I assure you that
Their language is one only I
Can hear no matter how often
Our tongues or talons meet
*
Another BBQ I know what your thinking that girl has issues. I just typed up my journal scribbles from today
Kiyo Murakami
I wanted then to be
Tongue-less, finger-less
That I could not speak
That you’d be left
With only my eyes
For company
And my smile swinging
Off the hinges
Like a thrown door
I don’t have youth
As an excuse anymore
The freedom to fail
Without collateral
The luxury of spare parts
Now I wait behind mirrors
Collecting reservations
Wondering if today
I’ll unravel entirely
Senzo
As yellow as carbon paper
My heart darkens under
The ache of delivery
Your graphite tongue
Leaves smudges in the air
Like a sphinx or a chimney.
I often plagiarize you
Repeating your sundry riddles
To innocuous beholders
In search of a sympathizing fog
We are as contradictory as gods
Hoarding the sepia of momentum
Like amber-cast mosquitoes
Each of us running from
Something borrowed
Or someone blue
We starve on haute coutre
On a culture which has grown
As skeletal as migrating wax
Clutching fistfuls of smiles
Like sparks in search of kindling
Wikipedia
I thought I might yield
In the womb of your presence
Catching only gists
And laughing when it suits me
Eyes confined behind
An eclipsing smile
Ears an instrument,
Like a shell
Retelling the blues
Of a misanthropic sea
I have no use
Of poems or hymns
I intend to stew in the scenery
Catching pixels as sperm
Praying that my mind
Is still fertile enough
To recompose
I’ve never cared
For templates
It’s what I feel
That’s extraordinary
The love I have
For the unseen
Which diverts mention
Sometimes I just need
To be silent
Like a barnacle sucking
With great reverence
And introspection
The beast it serves
Do I leave you bereft
Silent and intermittent
Like a blink?
When the darkness arrives
I step forward
Sleeves rolled to the elbows
Skin stained garnet
As congealed wine
And a heart wrapped
In cotton like an arrowhead
Or a child’s tooth
My desire is brutal
But inefficient
I cannot find in you
A vacancy
You’ve filled your mouth
With sweethearts
Every word perfect
And plump
Like a newborn baby
Only I can hear
The scream
Swelling behind
Your cloistered throat
Your tears are
The sweat of my labor
If I could freeze them
I’d fashion keys
To every door
You’ve ever passed through
Knowing that you’ve
Gone too deep
And locked yourself in
*
I was out most of the day family BBQ. I don’t think I have ever attempted to write a poem in such a short time frame and a hectic time at that so I apologize if this doesn’t make sense or if it seems incomplete
mindlovemisery 