All of My Prosaic Waiting / Ask / Archive / Me / Art,etc / About / Writing
CRUZAR by LiLiCuCa on Flickr. JADE - Recomendado de la semana!! by Gráfica Mestiza on Flickr. C215 - Port au Prince (Haiti) by C215 on Flickr.

The Orphan

Sleep-walking again in the kitchen, lips wrapped
around a giant white echo, hair a block of unfed
ice melting into the brow & tinseled iris
freezer-burning tongued

All of the rosaries have been repaired and
all the churches sway, solemnly
your cavern of disappearance, yawing
widens
and all of your scattered

papered-lions circle around
this warm bed. You cry no,        
tell me
metal, iron, stone.

Spring now.  You play in snow invisible, making
mile-long sirens of ice, daylight’s hello
passing around on it’s tip-toes, setting

your numbed fingers
trembling, bluest-quiet
 
Forget-me-nots

glamour:

Bjork *Dressed

visionate:

vlvelvet x stephanie poiraud

(via oooooverdrive)

Thirst


the well you keep is deep
but it is there for you to drink

veiled deep and dark until
it strikes the light
in the back of our throats, a knowing,
A gifted Truth on its knees

which rapturously swallows whole
stars and suns, weaves around us
a forgotten story
of our effulgence

Scrawled on gauze and
specked with tears
of skin
wistfully peering
inside windows

hastily assembled words:
I’m  sorry.

the bucket sways slightly.

say it into the well I beg this
surely you know
how deeply you thirst it, as
it does for you

Our heart’s pull
endures this weight, so
patiently

to hold, to release
to say, to ourselves, infinitely
and
     Always


  I forgive
 I forgive
I forgive


 

guillotineforaphrodite:

David Hamilton, 1969 qoax:

Botticelli - flower detail

Lily Shadow

starting  fires
is my no-good way to plead
a Missing of a   gentle 
lovely Lily who fell

blown unfairly into the
dark corners of a hospital bed
scratching,  clawing
herself,   under the sheets

we don’t know why
we don’t know why

but things I know
lurk inside walls that collect our suffering,
slither-bodies slide through suckling
on our life-breath like a lollipop,
soul parasitic

the hour she died, my Aunt dozing
It had burrowed in feeble and

feasted. Darker than the void, she awoke
with it crouched  on her chest. I
cannot reconcile
such convulsed aberrations as these.

Grey is this color I breathe
here, tree bark massaged
bone-cold and   
without measure. Here

hurricane winds   tear the songbirds

off of   telephone lines

TheOutsider by benjaminedmiston on Flickr. untitled by 川貝母 Inca Pan on Flickr.
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