Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Delilah Feb 2017
hangover guides me home again.
old news spews through
the screens all around me.
lies are subjective
and time is a flat circle.

we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.

high ground is the sure plan to suffer so
save yourself by submitting to flood.
mirrors reveal your fastest escape plan.
clouds are coming no matter how hard
you blow back, so all you can hope for is snow.

we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.
Delilah Jan 2017
Crack the window
Find me in the left lung of the house's chest
I close my eyes
and let the sound of white wind trace
the shells of my ears with it's smallest finger

Ghosts sleep in the morning
Electricity finds its rhythm in my veins and
I start up again
Angels wake with bed head in their best denim
I pierce the bed skin to find feathers
                                            
wear metal
wear silk
wear flesh

I paint time lines in a circle
post them on the ceiling
and sleep with one eye open

I dream of feeling-
shut inside
believing perverse or the reverse
Delilah Jan 2017
my view is navy
i drive toward your house
with sparkler finger-tips
not yet lit

our time is humid
we hush the fire
and rock to sleep, guitar wires,
manipulating sound waves

we whisper secret sounds in the wake
of airplane lights moving
across cheap glitter
in the night sky

we bloom into our minds
and heaven is the place
where clouds diffuse
to reveal the moon

i scratch my throat on sugar cubes
you burn your hands on
stove tops and cigar butts
we blister fuse together
Delilah Jan 2017
my son
the size of barely a peach
you left me for somewhere else
feet first, head last

i wish you could cast your shadows
onto daughter daylight
and blister so hard
that you're walking on balloons
maybe try to lick
the unreachable parts of your arm
or move your fingers
to wake yourself into body again

but instead
like a cartoon
i imagine you burrowed from my lap
feet first
tunneling toward eternal
leaving me bleeding and
deleting memory of being
more than one body
Delilah Dec 2016
my body is several climates of skin
peak and valley
carcass and substance
stunted and growing
regeneration

my body is lucid
halted energy
machine parts turning
calling codes
screaming notes

my body is star bruise
scar tissue
weapon
cure

my body is every memory

my body is because of world
and I am because of body
Delilah Dec 2016
Confetti settles in the crease of the carpet.
I wake up with pints of honey buzzing
in the center of my chest. My eyelashes cast shadows
like tick marks on my cheeks. No chaos.
The backs of my legs are tender
from crawling through the window to the roof.

We watched a paper mache moon from the roof
the night before. Small towns are boring liked threads from the carpet
but the people have hearts that are tender
like living peaches, always buzzing.
Just one picture of us, five sorry teens with internal chaos
dancing through string lights and breathing shadows.

Harris has a fascination with those shadows.
Her membership would be awarded with a dive from the roof.
She always loves the smell of checklist chaos,
or formulating plans while lying on the carpet
of her room. Her emotions are pulled taut and buzzing,
resonating fear when she forgets how to be tender.

Julia’s wire existence couldn’t try to be tender
She is a fat slap of clarity across your dispositions. Shadows
can’t cast new shapes across her buzzing
body. Her ******* pointing toward the roof
and her feet sinking between carpet
folds. like every time she is around it’s chaos.


Britt’s eyes reflect blue waves free from chaos
and each word skips across his tongue gentle and tender.
His clothes, Goodwill and kind-of-used-carpet
and camera casts light to evade shadows.
Short prayers dare scrape the roof
of his mind. Send heritage and denial buzzing.

Nelson is 7 years of swallowed gum and buzzing
alarm clocks, warning the world of chaos.
He climbs up rusted ladders to the roof
to shout of love and it’s lack of tender
tendencies. He is a fall breeze where leaves force shadows
across the laundry line, too weak to leave a hole in the carpet.

I glide through my days alluding tender
my mind scoffs at the chaos of my daytime shadow
but under the roof, i'm just a chalk outline pushed into carpet.
  Dec 2016 Delilah
Scar
I remember us,
Sticky in July -
The humid taste.

Our phantom limbs reflected off of pond ****.
The lake water found its way in and around my
mouth as goldenrod spit took shape as radio waves.

You’d pour liquor on the lawn, and slide through
the *** grass. I’d skin my knees on hot pavement
and write your name out in unruly blood.

Now you're flat-lining in a corner,
Keeping perfect time with the music.
I’m confined to wires, hallucinating you.
Next page