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when you wish you had-n't-stringing your eyes with garlands of stars i
wish to impeach you, maybe impregnate you
with a will to breathe
(in
deep)

but what are you but an incoming breath
to me? an unapologetic zephyr gracing
my inner vineyards

ruffling the leaves with whispers

(i understand it
isn't so collapsible, and
i'm forgetting i forget
you)

but when the winds turn
you're a harlot, ruining this year's
yield of self
(importance and confidence)

and i'm understandably drinking
up
down
the vinegar left

trying to breathe in the lights
i gift you with - always

and i have only the stars
to thank,
the stars to blame.
ma-doggive me a piper, judas

i'll give you a coin and you
can tear a page
out of me

your children, nestled
warm inside your paranoia,
smile with the fervour
of television

(i do not meet them
in the present)

what are we but
unsung hearts?

harkening to
a flame under
the spoon
home-boundi catch little insects with my fingers
it makes me feel so powerful
and having become god in your eyes, also -
i quit:
take your sorrys with me,

punch in,
shuffle through turnstiles,
take the line closest to the door.

i speak erratic, tongue sore
explaining away this
knotted anchor

he said it was "very zen"
to undo, unravel,
unrelentingly -

of course i cringed.

having had your breath taken
you have the gall
to ask for
it back.
imagine my surpriseI c
an
f
eel my
self pour
in
g (it
is
n't
an ex
cus
e) a
not
her
d
oppel
gang
er (yes,
I ex
ist eve
ry
wh
ere) d
own t
he pipes
(a
ll
type
s)
a
gain.
the is of a
a camera empties itself
of moments
as of faces

the implicature
is your face
reflected
past

the future
exi(s)ts

in that
glance

developed
lets goRelentless as an ocean eroding
the creases of my cliff face

tidal waves of you
crash along my boundary stones

the push and pull of blue:
eddying thoughts
emotions white wash

i don't think the ground will keep
beneath me and i'll plunge

headfirst into
the push and pull of you

(are you waiting)
(are you waiting)
(are you waiting for an sos on the sand?)

let's go
voice - this would be iti was planning on finding
out about you:
your shortcomings;
all respectable
deterrences.

so i could tell
you that
i didn't
care about
everyone else's
excuses but
my own

and i didn't
have
any
a-
ny-
mor-
e
mercyyou incite no mercy,
honourless thing:
I swallow your horror
like fruit.
hair-line fracturei am frugal with my wrists
i won't let them see you, enough
now, i'll say, and push them back
into my sleeves, hurriedly

like they could really catch
a cold from your eyes. your
two glaciers of disinterest, kind
of sparked your curiosity

did i? my wrists, they creak
like old willows breaking in
the wind, hunching from the knot
along their side, heavy with

finger branches, soft keratin
leaves you can rip out sometimes
after it rains heavy like
the storm i slept through last

night, and you told me there
was hail, and howling and i
did not believe you until i asked
other people. why is

that? how i don't believe
in storms.
too long too lateit is a gentle pity

that i will never know you,
and you will never know me
you say helloof course i am a conversationalist
i slip up on your fingertips and rush
headstrong into devoid-of-care

we shake on it
(the belief that we will
fall) so we take custody

of our fantasies (realised)
before we, exhausted,
exeunt
everyone verges on lonelinesssome time ago there was a little girl.
she had arms as big as the moon
to push her love toward the earth.
she moved the waves, all across people's faces;
big tidal waves sometimes,
eliminating every scintilla of breath
along the shorelines, up until the mountains,
or, little summer sprays of spit
along your legs as you dangle from the jetty.
this little girl liked to pour her love,
because she did not want to drown in a pool of it.

[  the boy with the fall apart mouth
all jittery to one side
smiling to hide his stumbles  ]
In the Beginning...There was no beginning.
Just an endless mass of you.

Like, if I'd slept with a fishing line,
I would have woke to your bite
whether I'd set bait or not.

See,
I'd always wanted someone like you;

poetically awkward
with the meaning of life
scattered across their toes

- now you dance at my feet.

And I can see your puddles of blue melting across
my palms as I lather myself with you, watching the way
you dissolve beneath my nails without leaving a stain.

It makes me realise that kissing you is what flying is to fish
and the clouds we avoid are ladders to ground level.
from cancer with love
.

Feel your cells change, my love
radiate with warmth. Worry not

of eternal devotion, my half-
life is too short. Love

me like there is no future, no
mortgage, no mistress to come

between. Love me without
abandon for I will be the one

                                to leave

                                 
it isn't really autumnwe taught our grace
to fly, and it taught
us to stay
tethered to our dreams

in a frightful way

like leaves do to branches
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More from ~saturnineguise

a stranger. Placating childrenHer eyes burned into me like the cigarette stains on my cheek in front of my brother's house when I was younger than I can pin-point exactly.

I am sitting on the gutter of that street I overheard you, crying about what you were going to do, how innocent I really was but did not want to admit, how your friend cared, but doesn't anymore.
This street housed me when I had to door knock for a lost ball for a stranger. Placating children, when I wanted you to smile at me, like you were proud, but you were not my mother. Trail yourself back into a taint of blood from seperate shores.
This gutter I nearly tripped over in laughter when I ripped vir
unbrokeni am proud of my wrists
they are not scuffed, nor tilled

they are weak, yes, fighting against
myself to end up in a snow of extended
itchy white

but they are smooth, and
forgive my senti-mental-ityyour face is shaven these days, not billowing with a wisdom
or hilarity procured from sight; a bookish character.
it speaks up with little flicks of cut down feathers of dove,
your cheeks are chicken skin sometimes, especially
at your neck. your solemn ears
waiting for the music to play on, play on

there is laughter in your eyes when you are
pretending to be serious,
locked away in your... what colours?
i do not know. and i am merciless with
my memory, like my mother with her words.

the way you squeeze every last breath in me
as if to prove i'm alive when i wheeze
life back into my lungs when you
release me. how that pressure le
one of those thingsi write when my head is about to crush into a black hole
i write when my heart is breaking into a million fuck yous
i write when i'm alone, in amongst strangers i feel more connected to than my own mother
i write when i'm confused about how i'm breathing, about how sometimes i don't want to be
i write when i'm in love with photographs, representations, copy-cats, plaster, sticky-tape, temporary fix-its
i write when i'm in desperate need for a vice
i write when i cannot fathom the way every little fibre i do not understand works, when i turn on a light
i write when i scald and scold myself with dirty hot words to try to make myself bett
no brine this timeI sidestepped, and missed the shutter. But it was too late, I had already ruined that timeless piece of memory, replacing say-cheeses with Picasso tremors across disjointed faces. A yell. A hey-you.

I smiled.

Her coat was dark green, and the sleeves fell like limp fish hanging by the sides of a makeshift shopfront by the sea. Her fingers the writhing maggots hidden, just beyond your sight.

I had to touch them.

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September 29, 2010
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[x]

calypso

:iconsaturnineguise:

white rock exploded into perfect form
primary colours washing
back
the need to stay
in cities
near people

the quiet is a heart beat
muted for a mother's
anguish

the skulls
are not
crystal

the air
is not
new


but everything
is new

now.
:iconsaturnineguise:
I suppose it is poetry.
:iconmesmeric-revelation:
~mesmeric-revelation Oct 1, 2010
it's more like sporks (:

The transition in stanzas-i love it
Reply
:iconlabseven:
~Labseven Sep 30, 2010
It's definitely poetry :nod:
Reply
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