Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Mar 2013 Amy Irby
Prabhu Iyer
There is a song that skins remember.
A line that resounds in silences.
A form the heart revisits
in fervid recollections.

That you must not speak,
that you must not speak.

Silences can ****.
No need to ask Crusoe.

Stars that explode in suicide:
From aeons of tortuous silences,
from distant companions,
silently cold.

Yes, our silences talk. Sorry, this
was not how it was supposed to be.
Strains of there we go again.

Gulfs of empty spaces between
silent vales, that birth the
mourning winds.

Murmurs leap out like dolphins
out of our silences.

Waiting to hear each other. Past
the dirge at the grave of my errors.
 Mar 2013 Amy Irby
vircapio gale
i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all

for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.

a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry
 Feb 2013 Amy Irby
M
Lord, I am not worthy to receive you.
But only say the words.
And I shall be healed?
What is your plan now, Oh, master in the sky?
What is the sense in this?
How much pain can one endure?
This is a different pain. Something I’m not familiar with.
Telling him I loved him, only to hear silence in return.
Isn’t ****** a crime?
I was almost certain it was.

I am meant to be alone.
I want no one by my side. None at all.
Arise once again my walls of steel.
Let the barbed wire crawl around.
The mere touch leaves a pin ***** of blood.
Don’t come near me.
Don’t touch me.
Don’t speak to me.
I am an island and no one is wanted here.
Turn away. And let me bask in my solitude

Rather than running from loneliness, I embrace it
Welcome it like I would a long lost friend
Nourish it like I would my soul
Learn its every inch, angle, and curve
Know it and know it well
Stay weary of others
Who look nice and pleasant, but under the facade,
Like a dose of poison

I desire no companionship, for I am unlovable.
I do not deserve love.
I should not possess it.
I should not own it.
I am unworthy to receive it
a constant denial of everything that matters
has left me shooting blanks
a silence canvases my life, so full of sound
at least it used to be
now i am left here at peace with myself,
with my eternal surroundings
no need to fight, no begging to hide
i expose myself to the elements
a placid calm, drifting in sunlight
poised in waves, serene moonlight
tranquil whispers in my ears
is it you who calls to me so?
i would run to you,
but i would rather float.
and so i float.
a silence once so deafening,
is soothing.
i can not recall a time so simple.
i do not ignore the complications,
they simply do not matter,
when you are near.
 Feb 2013 Amy Irby
P Chartier
The chai is weak
the chai is weak
I haven't gone to class for this... weak chai.
Is this why I haven't gone to class, once again?

I would get on that train if you weren't at home
still asleep, I know; but nevertheless waiting for me.
So I eat a yogurt and a bagel and drive around unknown places at 7am
when the sun has not yet peaked over the mountain.

And the girl inside of me is trying to crawl out of this woman who wont set her free
and everyone wants a piece of this mess "oh, if you want this, you have take it"
but I would prefer if you were to think again for this is not who I am,
and if you like her then please don't speak to me again.
Next page