no, i want the annihilating sweetnessyou were right when you said i lackno, i want the annihilating sweetness by v-espertine
the nerve to drive my car into the
ocean. i stay out late, the splinters
of our electric city clicking against
my teeth, & come home to the flash
of your whispers flushing my body
with nervous polyrhythms. last night
i found the letter in which i named
your eyes orestes and pylades:
star-crossed & polished & eager to
settle on a cosmic altar where we
trembled as if we were glasses
of water & i've been wandering, i'll
confess, beyond the perimeters of
your damaged skin, beyond the quiet
fluster of your gleaming spine.
i wandered, with vespers foaming at
the brink of my eyelashes, rushing
to collect the wire hearts of sexy
insomniac goddesses, but your tongue
was a fleet of white doves trained
to pick at my tendons. & the
morning slams into the back of
my neck as i rummage through your
black salt pupils, looking for
the dictionary i left there, open,
rising & setting like a diary.
the last page reads: speak to me in a
language you knew before
The Changed Intensity, or Colouring With LightRosie rumbled at the potent parade.The Changed Intensity, or Colouring With Light by jamboe89
Hears the sense, of the sight that weirdens,
Rubbish race. The kind of suffering that depends on questionable factors.
The century that extends, is renamed ‘a day’. The viewer just gapes and stares.
Truth, it is truth. The guy who has ownership of the fizzy planets.
The coloured turmoil,
In the midst of the bay, the mystery shoes by the bay.
What to do in the face of that? A notebook of blood,
Ghosts who grieve, for someone or something, it is meaning!
The steam that necessarily has to burn with its effect, its hot outlet,
A golden guard that rotates with the wind, the indigo trees.
Expression exploding through the envelope, a different poet similar,
Ungracious grace, a field turned with the right similitude, the right bar,
Something strange to me, my life, ‘strange to you maybe.’
A liquorice Napoleon, liquorice limits.
How can one know of the rarity in darkness?
Weaving twins – one loves hot, the other cold.
teeth and nailssomething is clamouring for creationteeth and nails by wildfirepen
it has ripped its way inside my skin
gnawed through bones
and torn up my hands into my heart.
from within this little cage
(this blood-filled, living cage)
it is sealed, tiny fists beating
let me out! it cries
through your mouth
catching in your throat
scraping your tongue
burning past your lips into daylight
and attentive ears, or
spilling out of your fingers
down your pen
let me out!
how i weep in pain and beauty
small, foetal, head in hands
let me out! let me out! it begs
and i uncurl.
the traveller carefully exits the foresti have to lead little blindthe traveller carefully exits the forest by ghostinafog
doves of thoughts into dead ends
lest they read, cover up the soil.
but the neon signs vs breathing pulp:
i would like to have Honda wings and vandalize beaches
to register car crashes as ordered sensations
of the spinal cord, the aerodynamics of a shower of turbulent cold
to tell Him to fuck off the way it was meant
to be: naked, ruffled, alone.
and they say my kind avoids forests, and it’s easy to see why:
an emptied closet, a smattering of dust.
and the tropics is wide and huge and it changes colour
but remember the marshes swallowing
my army boots, bringing me down
to my knees, revealing
temples in vine lace and adder.
the traveller rests against a tree,
they can’t make out his face as he looks
up, fingers intertwined in brushwood
and promises made but not yet voiced.