wkati - Hello Poetry

He had bent fingers She said they were the most beautiful hands she had ever seen. He said they were broken She loved that they were broken

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Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC

wkati

Untitled

He had bent fingers She said they were the most beautiful hands she had ever seen. He said they were broken She loved that they were broken

4

From across the bar she tapped the mouth of the glass He poured more in She put her lips on its hard edges Planted firmly against the cushions of her mouth, From its bittered gates she spoke, I’m old you know. I know, he said.

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Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC

wkati

old fashioned

From across the bar she tapped the mouth of the glass He poured more in She put her lips on its hard edges Planted firmly against the cushions of her mouth, From its bittered gates she spoke, I’m old you know. I know, he said.

7

Calloused lilies sprout into the cold air shaking off their scales. A moment of clarity, before they give birth again. mercurial joy. I find myself asking questions from letters, gluing them into hexes upon myself growing sentences and growing light that hides and shivers and runs before it can fully glow. My stars prevail. oh, that fleeting warmth, I want to melt within the safety of the universe and inhale the light so close to the tips of my fingers ever tipping further away

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Feb 4, 2014

Feb 4, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC

wkati

Ashland.

Calloused lilies sprout into the cold air shaking off their scales. A moment of clarity, before they give birth again. mercurial joy. I find myself asking questions from letters, gluing them into hexes upon myself growing sentences and growing light that hides and shivers and runs before it can fully glow. My stars prevail. oh, that fleeting warmth, I want to melt within the safety of the universe and inhale the light so close to the tips of my fingers ever tipping further away

16

A glimmer in the eye of god shown down A perplexed bourbon laugh my head on your sternum felt like home You stared. I stared back. Torrid, you. Shaking, blended... I saw us. I saw me in your hands. Sinking into this turning glass, I shiver.

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Feb 4, 2014

Feb 4, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC

wkati

On Main.

A glimmer in the eye of god shown down A perplexed bourbon laugh my head on your sternum felt like home You stared. I stared back. Torrid, you. Shaking, blended... I saw us. I saw me in your hands. Sinking into this turning glass, I shiver.

11

deafening entrapment bursting wings through tight and suffocating epithelium born into a beating prison barred and trapped clawing crying out if only these tears could melt through my body and sweep onto the floor like over filled bath water to sink into the earth where the turning ceases. poached wings and a chalk outline how can you fly without wings? weighty lascivious odious perfection

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Feb 17, 2013

Feb 17, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC

wkati

downward

deafening entrapment bursting wings through tight and suffocating epithelium born into a beating prison barred and trapped clawing crying out if only these tears could melt through my body and sweep onto the floor like over filled bath water to sink into the earth where the turning ceases. poached wings and a chalk outline how can you fly without wings? weighty lascivious odious perfection

16

I have this image of you and me tucked into the most precious corner of my mind. There we are, you with your seraphic face and dancing mind, me, round and brunette, more like my father with Japanese eyes and suffocating hesitation weaved into my DNA, a young five year old grasping your books in my hands. That is how it began. The same books I would read as years passed on. The books that watched from afar as everything changed. Books with dog eared pages, pencilled in words of "remember this" or scribbled lines and stars of inspiration, burnt pages from your cigarettes, warped font and wrinkled pages from your tears, my tears, my sisters tears. The tears that fell and fell until the three of us were drowning in that salty anthropomorphic ocean that started out a drop of pure rain. And on your lap, holding us to you, you told us how you built a boat to carry us toward some hopeful light house with twinkling lights and old wrinkled men in rain boots that would pull us to shore. When all along your heart was never our compass, we were drowning in your being. clinging to books in your library of the sea. tearing pages off in desperation.

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Aug 1, 2012

Aug 1, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC

wkati

library

I have this image of you and me tucked into the most precious corner of my mind. There we are, you with your seraphic face and dancing mind, me, round and brunette, more like my father with Japanese eyes and suffocating hesitation weaved into my DNA, a young five year old grasping your books in my hands. That is how it began. The same books I would read as years passed on. The books that watched from afar as everything changed. Books with dog eared pages, pencilled in words of "remember this" or scribbled lines and stars of inspiration, burnt pages from your cigarettes, warped font and wrinkled pages from your tears, my tears, my sisters tears. The tears that fell and fell until the three of us were drowning in that salty anthropomorphic ocean that started out a drop of pure rain. And on your lap, holding us to you, you told us how you built a boat to carry us toward some hopeful light house with twinkling lights and old wrinkled men in rain boots that would pull us to shore. When all along your heart was never our compass, we were drowning in your being. clinging to books in your library of the sea. tearing pages off in desperation.

3

planted in the sand soaked water, inhaling the ocean into spongiform lungs she delves rusty spider leg fingers graze the keyboard red dust and cracking joints clip each letter and space a dance of bones on hard plastic pressing out each thought how I wish to be the ocean, to have already poured out each drop of sweat of tears captured whole an entity of its own contained in freedom

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Jun 28, 2012

Jun 28, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC

wkati

charlotte

planted in the sand soaked water, inhaling the ocean into spongiform lungs she delves rusty spider leg fingers graze the keyboard red dust and cracking joints clip each letter and space a dance of bones on hard plastic pressing out each thought how I wish to be the ocean, to have already poured out each drop of sweat of tears captured whole an entity of its own contained in freedom

15

curling smoke consumes fingertips her sinking cranium an intent to glue a beguiling shattered mirror. she inhales splinters in a snow globe of dust.

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Apr 24, 2012

Apr 24, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC

wkati

II. bird

curling smoke consumes fingertips her sinking cranium an intent to glue a beguiling shattered mirror. she inhales splinters in a snow globe of dust.

7

you're in the kitchen again making coffee in the dark grinding beans, grinding teeth dark and bitter cups cracked and cut like her mind that brilliant fogged mind with fingers extended she grasps onto shards of glass carving out carving in plummeting spurting crimson

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Apr 24, 2012

Apr 24, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC

wkati

I. bird

you're in the kitchen again making coffee in the dark grinding beans, grinding teeth dark and bitter cups cracked and cut like her mind that brilliant fogged mind with fingers extended she grasps onto shards of glass carving out carving in plummeting spurting crimson

12

crushing eggshells, the dusty pink ballerina pirouettes through space, cobwebs are her constellations, candlelight her sun in motion, thoughts quelled, surrounded by sensation, she can feel. each raw exhale a release aching muscles tensed with bliss her mind is quiet, no longer numb, she is free.

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Apr 10, 2012

Apr 10, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC

wkati

untitled

crushing eggshells, the dusty pink ballerina pirouettes through space, cobwebs are her constellations, candlelight her sun in motion, thoughts quelled, surrounded by sensation, she can feel. each raw exhale a release aching muscles tensed with bliss her mind is quiet, no longer numb, she is free.

9