My moorings bend
From the force of
An increasingly frenzied current.
I never manage to untie myself
Before departing and where I lack talent
I have chosen momentum.
–
Within me the stars itch
Drawing the moon
From the oily pith of a sky
That is graciously expanding.
–
Our fingers collide
When reaching for the milk.
There’s no reason for privacy,
Not now that you have seen everything
But let’s continue carving
Moments whenever we can
So that we don’t become
Utterly indistinguishable.
–
The only ghost which
Cannot be exorcised
Is the soul and yet here I stand
Eviction notice in hand
Rattling the cage
With enough force
To break my heart in two.
–
I managed to get one done today but I am still working on my submission(s) so I may reblog on occasion. Today was an emotional day, I am always emotional after therapy. I am trying to figure out how many poems to submit to The Newyorker they accept 6 submissions at a time but you are only permitted to submit twice in a year. Any words of wisdom would be appreciated! It takes 6 months to get a response so by then we will have all forgotten.
“Within me the stars itch”–wowza, what a fine phrase!!!!
Wow, 6 months to get a response?? That seems interminable. I think if it were me, I’d submit 6–and then another 6 whenever it’s allowable; just my 2 cents 🙂
Thanks your 2 cents are greatly appreciated as are your lovely comments =)
You’re most welcome always 🙂
Submit every chance you get!! Love your writing!
Awwww thank you!
This says more to me about the relationship than all of the rest of the poem:
“Our fingers collide
When reaching for the milk.”
I think it does too