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In a violet dream with dusty snow
I swam through the architecture of a god
Pulling pieces of history down from their hooks
The liquid world was warm and lightheaded
I held onto a foreign parcel, treading with goblins and paint plodders
Floating on the waves, breathing in and singing out the motion
Arriving at your door
It was so hard to focus...
Those... things so far out of reach
I think I knew them
I think they were ours
Will you help me get them back? Is that possible?
I'm still not sure if I can face the truth
MontagnaI need my mountain back
Because that's where I sit
I sit and become the mountain
I need my eyes back
Because that's how I watch
I watch myself growing old
As granite's hold launches
Between crown and full moon
I discard five losses
In a single afternoon
Una più notte qui
Una nuova notte qui
Ci guardiamo svilupparci vecchi
Another Scrap, another 'poem'A resilient echo
A memory washed up
A past long tied to the world
There's a weight in these people
I haven't imagined
Or learned, or seen
Fear has caught up with me
And I want to name it
But that takes it all out of me
I still haven't discovered
Or dealt, or dreamed
Everyone has something
And hard as I try
I can't take in the bigger picture
I don't know where to put anything
As this poem fades into a rant
I realize I could write anything
And it wouldn't make a difference
In the world
But I never meant it to
We'll hang in there
A resilient echo at least
The Tilted Green PlaceOn that wet day
I went and sought refuge
In that tilted green place
Crowded with emptiness
That welcomed me perfectly
There I played
As children will
With a goddess checking up
Through the window on Christmas
The rain was rare and glittered with planted wishes
The Sara Mouse said it was all true
The red kettle whistled and called us out
As the deputy drew his gun
The doors were smashed in and the Sara was gone
And I was to blame
In that tilted green place
l Parallel lThe parallel unfolds your life
Sandpaper of thought
A message taken back
Briefly for the old
To tether the ceiling
Of the void
You work, obsessed
Eclipsed by your blindness
Exposed to the elements
Of your doubt
The parallel is nearing
The young now are cheering
These walls are floating apart
Our two paths cross
But we do not walk them
As the rough thought occurs
As the moon's vision blurs
We bring a match to the end
Watch for the parallel's bend
Take this message to your grave
The Moon and the TrainWhispered into a pay phone in a darkened alley :
The moon and the train
Dig out a hole envious of the mind
I can't follow forever
They'll realize I'm aboard
Evasion isn't for the fool
I can't pretend I'll belong
Anywhere but where
I found myself before birth
Sung in an apartment bathtub :
They grew up to the sound
Of the moment forgotten
With their parents yelling
Oh where are you heading
You can't become what you're worth
If you'll only earn your keep with
The moon and the train
They're soon to find you out again
But love, you reach in vain
Spoken like a true stranger :
Home is as real as money
Always leaving you empty
Where, oh where, are you heading?
Would you mind getting a clue
You can't keep trusting the moon
Enjoy the cozy, the lucky mundane
Could you please
Save us the shame
Shut up your youth, your art, your brain
Promise us you'll miss that train
Screamed as if it could save you :
Stay at home
Dream all you
Thus Spoke a Whisper
A whisper leans into me
I hold it until it can breathe again
'Please hold me when I'm unspoken
Until I inhale what I used to be'
What I used to be
This is not a journey, it says
This is an obstacle course
I've been through so much
Felt things I wasn't meant to touch
I will remember
Who I used to be
Halls haunt back, lock us into
What won't be
But it's not on me
I'll let that one go
You could follow
I'll show you how to not only survive
This is me
Standing here, ready to sing
Awaiting no reply
Soaking in the silence
Letting it fuel my thunder
A song leans into me
I smile until it hurts
Euphonious and bittersweet
Euphoria of the elite
Moving on to my own beat
This is where I become who I am
Not needing to be complete
The Throat Clears, We Go HomeYou wait on the curb
Hand me the money you owe
I tell you to keep it
In exchange for some new way to smile
"Just take me there for a while."
You fall to the sky and open the world
Only a guitar and a word barely heard
I have to pace myself
Keyed up to race myself
Your echo knows
More than the strings do
Your river flows
But you can't quiet them
I can't make them want to hear
But I do, I'm here
I feel, I accept, I move on
I balance, break and apologize
Without meaning to
But listening here, stuck to the now
I find I can't touch you
Find that really it's all in your hands
As those chills spread across me
Crying, a fool to beguile
You give me a new way to smile
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Song of First SnowfallI fell in love
with the boy at the bus stop this morning
who dropped his gloves
on the sidewalk
to freeze his fists into side-of-the-road snow
and throw snowballs into the wind
just to watch them float away
as if he wants to contribute to the storm.
To be a part of it all.
I fell in love with him,
and I don’t know why.
All I know
is that the air is filled with music
and that this boy is the bassline.
And then he’s saying hello.
I think it must be to me;
no one else is around
but for the street and the snow and the sky.
But he’s yelling at the top of his lungs,
at the street the snow the sky
and I know that to him,
I’m not even there.
It’s to be a part of it all:
the whispering of wind,
the crunching of footsteps
and grumbling of cars.
It’s to be standing in the eye of the storm
to be clinging to its teeth and to say,
I am here.
He looks at me,
and this time I know it’s to me that he says,
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
Makers Of The Cage. Holders Of The Key.Our eyes are the closest thing we have to freedom.
We see endless blue sky, and the stars beyond.
We see the beauty of the world.
We see our reflection in the mirror;
the reality, and the fantasy.
Our eyes see far and great.
But the rest of us cannot follow.
Our hands probe the steel bars around us.
Fumbling in the dark.
Cut by the sharp edges.
The bleeding never stops.
Our feet shuffle around.
Trying to go places.
But we walk in circles.
Our emotions go from red to blue;
orange to green;
yellow to purple,
mixing in a haze.
Our mind goes to dark places,
and only wanders deeper.
Oblivious to the place right next door.
It knows the freedom,
it knows the pit.
There are endless paths to take.
There's a cage we need to break.
There is a key ourselves create.
In our hands, it's never too late.
a cherry pit dog heart.she holds a cherry pit dog heart in her hand, arrhythmic
beats like children playing pots and pans in kitchens
mother builds from scratch, black bean soup prepared
for dinner by a creased artist; wisps of white
upon a grandfather's head remind his daughter's child
of winter as he talks of horses in cuba who scratch
their backs on wooden posts; the first time she eats
ox tail is at an uncle's funeral, sitting in the basement,
surrounded by her surname, wondering why everyone
seems so happy; her grandmother keeps having
that dream where she's cooking and pours hot oil
on the animal in the kitchen, singeing his skin—
she cries out at midnight, sobbing for her daughter;
black eyes watch as her child keeps growing,
inspecting her process for future improvements,
while she takes pride in getting her sleeve caught
on twigs as she runs through the forest; motherhood
enters her every so often, at times uninvited, but
never for her prince in white, the bundle curled up
on her bed, floating
on goodnessbe good.
be an angel.
be better than that, even.
be a demon.
do what you want, when
you want, how you want
to do it. because no one
can tell you what is good.
the same ones
telling you what is good
are the same ones
who left their
children crying in gutters
the same ones
who said that the war
the same ones
who said that
you don't deserve rights
if you don't use them the same
way that they do-
the same ones that, given
the opportunity, would hang you
up by the skin on your shoulders
in a museum to point at and say,
'see, children, this is
what happens when you aren't good.'
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
EaulachonThe world is a mess and I am inside it
The world is a song and I might join in
A cave and a glass may be full with warmth
I am the steam you watch rise
Ideals comb through young minds
Armed with passion, with promise
I want the wood and the metal in hand
I want to shape my crest
The ghost has survived and boarded again
Crafted a new set of eyes
My song may travel over the world
I'll be the voices that rise
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More