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Literature Text
they whisperscuttle across the ceiling
like spiders, black hairy legs and peppered
poison and squashed letters under
barefoot dances with heavyhanded
secrets like broken branches in a summer
storm. they burrow beneath
fearstenched skin where the purple
strings wait and my collarbone creaks
as they crawl inside with pink marrow
and dirtyblinded tales of betrayal
because the word friend tastes just the
same as love and they both leave
the lingering scent of mould like
winged nightmares, with dusty
surfaces and thin dying flights out in a
tissuewrapped world. they whisper-
scuttle across burnt walls with black
edged paper crumbles on
coffee skin where the pink turns
to brown and lightly glides with shiny
scars. a barefoot dancing partner
with scaly curved nails whitespotted
with lacking just for me in our night-
crusted eyes, blinkblink when
the yellowstriped curtains drag
back and the madness cracks the egg
shells of tiny girls whose bell
anklets jingle with every grey-
echoed footstep. and they are moonlight
clouds over breakingbones aged people,
elderly like the earth with its wrinkle
mountains, faint fogs and mercyforgotten
and manners as a please-please
don't whisperscuttle untruths down
creepy critter scratched throats like mine.
dirtyblinded, they murmur.
like spiders, black hairy legs and peppered
poison and squashed letters under
barefoot dances with heavyhanded
secrets like broken branches in a summer
storm. they burrow beneath
fearstenched skin where the purple
strings wait and my collarbone creaks
as they crawl inside with pink marrow
and dirtyblinded tales of betrayal
because the word friend tastes just the
same as love and they both leave
the lingering scent of mould like
winged nightmares, with dusty
surfaces and thin dying flights out in a
tissuewrapped world. they whisper-
scuttle across burnt walls with black
edged paper crumbles on
coffee skin where the pink turns
to brown and lightly glides with shiny
scars. a barefoot dancing partner
with scaly curved nails whitespotted
with lacking just for me in our night-
crusted eyes, blinkblink when
the yellowstriped curtains drag
back and the madness cracks the egg
shells of tiny girls whose bell
anklets jingle with every grey-
echoed footstep. and they are moonlight
clouds over breakingbones aged people,
elderly like the earth with its wrinkle
mountains, faint fogs and mercyforgotten
and manners as a please-please
don't whisperscuttle untruths down
creepy critter scratched throats like mine.
dirtyblinded, they murmur.
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
on the cusp
it is just that when i let go of you
when i let go
it's hard to remain that perfect without you.
--
the in-between of love, buds- so full of potential
our love is written in whispers on the pages
of a book which has not yet been opened.
--
that day, the sun had erased the last lines
of an unforgiving winter from my skin, i was renewed
olive skinned and feeling as if i had just fled the eternal
garden naked as i came- free, fallen.
--
the sky was dark;
nothing but the blood red smile of the moon
cut through the transient darkness of the night.
Literature
Ceteris Paribus
In an eon
You and I will greet the choate moon
Surrounded by her fairy dogs
warrior wolves and magnetic fox tails
who howl some foretelling tune
decoded only by the whistling winds
within my once listless room
I nip your Adam's apple by my Cupid's bow
we are a perfect art, a Sistine Michelangelo
We are stomata of the umpteen,
swimming in each other's dulcet drippings
of halved and pitted French tongues and ears
Let the years pass in this gentle deaf-muteness
where Ceteris Paribus
In this, Hallowed and His Seraphims know
how in the glow of one night tide
the firmament of all
folded into my limitless room
You and I part in sweet sorrow
t
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Comments14
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wow. this reads so quickly, probably because there were hardly any periods. gives it a sense of urgency and panic, which kind of fits the story line. those spiders would make me panic 
beautiful poem! (:
beautiful poem! (: