mia-farinelliWhisper

American

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SomethingI’m happy just to dance with you, free as a bird. / The night before, words of love / In spite of all the danger,

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Colored SestinaYou are the midnight purple / Of tonight's sky, the blood red / That stains my wounds, the tender blue

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To Love a KnitterWe had casted on one evening, / The beginning slip knot / With a tail trailing behind,

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slipping on rainDesigned in flurries, I’m thrown onto a soul and slipping on rain. Someone hears none of his wishes walk, what do I mean “none”? What do I mean “his”? I’m collecting your dust on a leaf as if you’re crawling into my own nothingness. We turn on the bottles, so I can’t escape you. You’re that sinful, beastly, an old form of story. Ah, I believe, therefore I grow the gold I split myself on.

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morning has insomniai am the caffeinated Hours of my Children / who expect me to distill their Dreams / so they can dance with Reality

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to say sopoems set yourself / far apart from / everything

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Missing WhispersThe red and orange leaves / Remind me of a time / Where there was a simple breeze.

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SecondsOn shadows yonder, that is what you fear against, that rain he is wondering, spilling over like dreams. To cry when the words have begun, to turn to my desires, just seven wonderous seconds. A trapdoor you were falling through drifts across the sea. How to shake my nerves when he must dance for them, how to paint after the ending? He burns the sky with his blood. Soft endearments surround the ideal. Even if you can’t speak the rhythm, we are just a part of time. I keep this treasure to build my dreams. I fly this soul to carry you.

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