c-m-keehl - Hello Poetry

after Zachary Schomburg Lost between the seconds I said. I’m lost between the second I said I’m lost between the pendulum swinging between your thighs. There are twelve kinds of people & we are none of them because I’m lost between the seconds, lost between submitting to the hands of your unwinding clock.

0

Nov 21, 2015

Nov 21, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC

c-m-keehl

in which your hands undid me

after Zachary Schomburg Lost between the seconds I said. I’m lost between the second I said I’m lost between the pendulum swinging between your thighs. There are twelve kinds of people & we are none of them because I’m lost between the seconds, lost between submitting to the hands of your unwinding clock.

10

1. Start in darkness — we are animals giving our bodies to one another. Simple creatures never pausing in breath. A tongue there left no room for future. The foot in throat, a replayed film disappeared in the corner of your eyes. This is our heaven that I’ve been chewing for years; tell me does Exodus taste something like this? II. Commence in 7 days of making lands. Creation formed blue blood on dry ground & you repeated my name like you never had before. Wild tooth snarls but no gnashing of teeth. Ear filled howls of our own eradication, other worlds couldn’t hold under my step. Promise me you’ll never promise you won’t leave. Now forget that. Forget the postulated attempts to what held ourselves sinew to bone to a darkness felt. If there was any other way, I’d meet you half, hands full of cataclysmic delight. You aren’t your own, but neither I am. III. This time start infinite. Complex figures found, formed haphazardly; jolts of lightning & unholy moments of divine interpretation. The body sings contours learned in womb kept supernovas. If this is escape, I’m perfectly drunk & you’re blurry constellations. All explosions end in destruction; a variation, a line that follows heaven to where we weren’t really simple animals after all.

0

Nov 21, 2015

Nov 21, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC

c-m-keehl

a study on escapism

1. Start in darkness — we are animals giving our bodies to one another. Simple creatures never pausing in breath. A tongue there left no room for future. The foot in throat, a replayed film disappeared in the corner of your eyes. This is our heaven that I’ve been chewing for years; tell me does Exodus taste something like this? II. Commence in 7 days of making lands. Creation formed blue blood on dry ground & you repeated my name like you never had before. Wild tooth snarls but no gnashing of teeth. Ear filled howls of our own eradication, other worlds couldn’t hold under my step. Promise me you’ll never promise you won’t leave. Now forget that. Forget the postulated attempts to what held ourselves sinew to bone to a darkness felt. If there was any other way, I’d meet you half, hands full of cataclysmic delight. You aren’t your own, but neither I am. III. This time start infinite. Complex figures found, formed haphazardly; jolts of lightning & unholy moments of divine interpretation. The body sings contours learned in womb kept supernovas. If this is escape, I’m perfectly drunk & you’re blurry constellations. All explosions end in destruction; a variation, a line that follows heaven to where we weren’t really simple animals after all.

37

stoop side you sit fallen angels with broken knees, 40 ounce amber galaxies & palms of prayer on an open mirror. The benefactive is Columbian is endless stairs on roofless buildings, is your cracked knuckles of powdered meaning — metallic shifts in the parking lot holy begging thunder to threat everything at once, so then you can forget. You prayed for all the wrong pronunciations & when you sleep demons graffiti epistles on the walls of your exposed chest.

0

Nov 17, 2015

Nov 17, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC

c-m-keehl

epode of your carbon being

stoop side you sit fallen angels with broken knees, 40 ounce amber galaxies & palms of prayer on an open mirror. The benefactive is Columbian is endless stairs on roofless buildings, is your cracked knuckles of powdered meaning — metallic shifts in the parking lot holy begging thunder to threat everything at once, so then you can forget. You prayed for all the wrong pronunciations & when you sleep demons graffiti epistles on the walls of your exposed chest.

14