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Literature
Galaxy Skin
Galaxies look like milk i spilt on the lino
ethereal,
it's true;
Nut's body was is freckled with Taraxacums and gaiety.
She tells me it's like design,
tells me that, even though my cavity chest is full
of empty space held steadfast by stardust,
that it's all God's volition, that it's all art.
she tells me that numbers/words are the window to the soul,
that I should write about emptiness and glitter and detritus in the waves happiness
Literature
The Connoisseur
Evening in the thought quarry is sublime. The newly collected memories are finally digitized. After the day’s work, I relax and sort them, evaluating their body and character.
I load a new one titled “Elizabeth," dated for last week. I open the sensory log and dive.
I see green hills and the occasional flower. Clear skies. The sight has terrific clarity.
I pluck a nearby dandelion. The aroma is sweet and earthy. I take a greedy sniff and feel the sharp prick of a stinger. I tear away the insect. The pain finely accents the fragrance.
I detect powerful enthusiasm for the loneliness of these hills, for the absence of civilizati
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
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Tried my hand at prose poetry, still not satisfied after three days of working in this.
(Too bad DA has not "Prose Poetry" category)
(Too bad DA has not "Prose Poetry" category)
Mature
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