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 Aug 2014 derick gibbs
Mason
The Owl
 Aug 2014 derick gibbs
Mason
I see God.
On a distant hillside.
Perched in a tree.
Feeding her young.

She is no great beast.
But she sees everything.
I see them clasping each other's hand,
planted on a wooden bench,
head on shoulder,
and carving a smile at the winter clouds.

They hold each other's embrace in the chilly flurry of air,
their eyes shut,
seizing the moment,
and allowing their hearts to slowly, but surely entwine with one another.

I gaze at them, longing for what they have.
My heart sinks at my despair and companionless thoughts.

The only thing I can do now, is to keep scrolling.
My eyes fixed on the screen of my device,
my thumbs flicker from one side to another.
I keep myself distracted, vacantly staring at the pixels beneath the tip of my index finger.

Ultimately, the thoughts strike in its final wave.
Anxiety flushes over my sense of self,
and I realise.
That I.
I am.
the odd one out.

Disconsolate.
 Jun 2014 derick gibbs
Elise
the wires are humming again
she's covering her ears
while eyes flicker
and breath quickens
she asked me to help her **** the parts that hung off her like the tails of ghosts that she claims trace the hallways
she tried to cut out the hardware that embedded itself in her skin
I could hear the metal hitting the floor as I lay asleep
but when I awoke she claimed it was only the bugs dancing in the night
they knocked over the candles and that blew out the light
I used to believe everything she said when she used to talk about how the sky was every color
she said she could see them in my eyes
my eyes are darker than night now
the sun lives downstairs
but he rarely comes to check on us anymore

I don't mind
 May 2014 derick gibbs
irinia
ask your blood
your limbs, your breathing feet
what Poetry is -
a phylogenetic anomaly
in light’s discontinuity

or just…
the strange yearning of hematopoiesis

ask the silence in your lungs
the bursting DNA, reinterpreted
how it allures memory inside your bones
how it treads conventions of sleep
with the weight of a sigh

if you ask me
what Poetry is
I’d say: breath calligraphy
a winged dream of depth
on enchanted retina
the bitter-sweet art of airy harmony

ask your hands
what Poetry is
perhaps they’ll take a moment
to bloom
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