Bitlet 09 - PoliticsWhen I speak of Carolina, cicadas sing in my memoryBitlet 09 - Politics9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I want to shout so you, little sister, might understand
the way a creature smaller than my hand can stand
with its brethren and shake my arrogance, how each
of their voices alone are just the sliver of a whisper -
but singing together they become thunder.
Accidentat the corner of boone trails and owenAccident1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
she learned the brevity of flight:
glinting bumper for launch pad
trajectory approximately 5 feet
across the median.
as proud, as swift
as any prima ballerina
but the landing
this I keep for her -
the listless weight of limbs
defying gravity, the beastly beauty
of a body bouyant before
PositiveLeft to me, your worst historian,Positive10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to pick up, in a daze, some depth of diction
I never found while you had lived
and I can only now pretend that words are capsules
of sanguinity, that they’ll unmask the symbologies
of sound that bore your binaries to their realms
like sacred dreams of Hypnos.
Regret’s a simple word.
I always thought of "A Separate Peace", and in those scenes
you were this Mozart in the rough, a perfect chord, one
which I would meekly channel through cracks of light
shown through the fist of my own interference,
Why this wisdom, now?
The cosmic clown who wrote this song
does not annotate our endings with an epilogue.
I do not see the irony in celebrating
your new found space.
There is no iconicity,
no special shape
that serves the world
as you did serve,
to bend and writhe the streets
into a wellspring, a circuitr
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?summergirl1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
ii. you have grown
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
Hand and foot, Hip and breastHear the ever-wonderful `TwilightPoetess read this aloud here!Hand and foot, Hip and breast1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
And now I understand the depths
to which a woman must sink, must
dig herself into, must push past with hand
and foot, hip and breast. It is not light I seek
but solidness. Not spring air soft against
my cheek, but the scalding touch of lava
forced for so long to be silent and still
now worming through a cracked
and weeping crust. It seeks explosions
because affection must be dramatic.
But the sky will not love it
as thoroughly as I do.
And now I understand the impossible
permanence of night-lit words.
They linger in the valley between my wrist
and fingers; stow themselves in my freckles.
I cannot erase their presence, ignore
their weight -- only hope for a lover
who will burn away your shape.
But I understand hope to be a fickle
and most unfortuna
Alla RabiosaScorpio's tail slips low—Alla Rabiosa5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a mari usque ad mare:
from sea to sea
over me, a devil in the sky above;
and the Huntress
peels dawn like an orange.
amongst the stars:
the Mad Queen's cosmic mirage.)
the cure for everything is saltwaterand my voice is choked with pebblesthe cure for everything is saltwater10 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and my veins are thick with ink
so i'll bleed out all my lovesongs
wash them down the kitchen sink
and i'll tell you that i'm leaving
and i'll flee this soulless town
for the silent sea is calling
and i'm not afraid to drown
and i'll search out quiet islands
let the blank horizons be
drench my soul in every ocean
sink my heart in every sea.
checklist of a masochistiiichecklist of a masochist6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you were an untouched sunset,
never before seen and familiar
at the same time; delicately shedding
shades of pink the same color
of your starving voice
and I was most beautiful
with my clothes off, too much skin
intersected by too many lines (never
the near parallel you longed for)
a hazy blur that made the nights
our own watercolor cliche
you were that cheap love song
that never sounded authentic,
lyrics stitched through your
paper skin; chords resonating
from your every wanting sigh
and you were surprised how much
you needed me, from the concrete solidity
of my ribs to the metaphoric indecency
of my thoughts, naked and trembling
for your callused ears (or maybe
it was just me, justifying the way
you skinned my anxious layers
with your ravenous hands,
like underfed beasts)
you were the child crying
at shadows pretending to be monsters,
running from the prospect of
god and death and gravity;
& you were the letter I never sent
"I'm done apologizing for
the person I wasn't befor
you need to have a plan...so here's toyou need to have a plan...8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to some forgotten shore.
2. fall desperately in love with
i. the ocean
ii. the sky
iii. the honey sunrise and
iv. the steelgray winter dawn.
soul-deep into the water and
4a. search out the requisite words
i. from behind white and blue curtains
ii. and underneath clam shells
iii. and in the wakes of fishing boats, and
4b. pluck them from the ceaseless
scrawls of sunlight
against the slopes of waves.
5. make time for
ii. and other
AcquittalWon't you leave me? I will love youAcquittal1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
more than if you stay, transfixed
to the point of reference, our bodies
melding a sad, soft sublime, the back
spine of a little universe blown out
like a crafter's hot glass, the growing
moment, the wonder, the expansion
before a chill.
beaut(if)ulYou exist in thebeaut(if)ul10 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
space where beautiful is a
with thanks to salingerAudio version.with thanks to salinger10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's on those cold mornings
when you are nothing but indrawn breath
swirling and knitted up inside too-big
skin and weightless bones--
when the horizon arches up against
the half-thawed tendrils of sunrise
with golden teeth,
and smiling, begs--
it's on those cold mornings
when leaving is easiest.
the car will be cold, and you will
shiver, and the engine,
much too loud,
will smack of blasphemy
but you will find peace in the steady roll
of tarmac and the yellowing light
spilling across it,
with dust motes kicked up and carried
like fish in the undertow.
when you come to that first
crossroads, it will shock you:
the way the decision hangs there
trembling and desperate--
but there are no right answers and you will not
hesitate. and each successive choice
will be made of its own accord,
and you will roll the windows down,
and draw down the scent of ear
The Watchmaker's Lover - RevisionYour clockwork appendagesThe Watchmaker's Lover - Revision1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
were cold to the touch.
The industrial complex of your mind
was grating gear against gear
where the unoiled works
kept clacking away; your atrium
was a tick-tocking machine
that counted the hours while the rust settled in.
The mainspring spiraled round
your mechanical heart tensed
so tightly it showed in your face,
in your quivering hands,
your troubled eyes.
The unlubricated escapement never
released, oxidized into place
from ages of neglect.
Your lonely footsteps echoed
under orange gaslamps submitting
to the glare of red lanterns.
Used parts are yours for the taking;
here, a hairspring; there, slender
legs under shredded petticoats.
The joints of your fingers corroded
with arthritis and green rust,
curled around curls
of Caryatids uncalibrated
to your pendulum swing.
Your flinted eyes filed flaws away,
groomed for the fluxing process.
Oscillating gears locked into place
before your backlash recoil
forced the dual mechanism apart
with shallow breaths emergin
syracuseListen to the audio version for the full effect, pretty please.syracuse1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
cloudshot sky like an oil painting and i am watching the
darling, i will swim for you
and swallow every whitecap.
i will pluck myself a coat of pelican wings,
sew them up with salt and spray--
become icarus for you.
you are calling me across the waves, love--
but you pull against the ache
in my bones, the hollow--
the clawing out for unseen sunsets and unturned tides.
i hear you, love
give me time.
i will always listen.
Not a dallianceNot a dalliance-Not a dalliance4 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Lissome scintillas blossom,
Become forest fires
fluencythe writer, in bed,fluency8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
ponders the hushing fricatives
of denim on cotton,
the liquid linguistics
of hips and ribs and delicate
vertebra; and catalogues--files away
every shaking aspirant and every
quiet, arched-throat glottal stop,
and the way it all just
off the tongue.
SurrogateI stopped using his full titleSurrogate9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.
And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.