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kate Mar 29
Balancing act, she is bird-like on the counter-top
emaciated girl, her angular legs, rosebud knees
interrupt the uniform stretch of translucent skin

Her heels against the dishwasher
and the backs of her arms pressed into her stomach
Sand dollar ribs and skin like glass

There on the counter-top, some nebulous characteristic,
a resigned sort of pluck or girlish defiance
flickering in blue eyes, blackberry lashes that flutter in the
silent draft from the opened window,

The scent of spring, caught in the sinuses and the
back of the throat - the stench of the Callery pears
and the sweetness of the new, feathery grass

She capitulates to the nausea of the changing season
its swollen, female body rears its ugly outline
and she, a skeletal wisp blown about in April's ubiquity
kate Aug 2021
moon swept girlhood,
I linger on its intrinsic brink
womanhood, a parallax
its prismatic strictures
flash of legs and color

toeing silver lines
I raise the glass, claret pledges ebb and arc
sacral interruption,
woman seated at the table
the beaming debutante

woman; syllables scatter
hazy wake of cream and clematis
bloodied fingertips
furrowed brow and full lips

who am i now, the witness to
her rhythmic gyration of effacing remarks
sweet thing, lost in her own performance
the woman precedes me,
I loathe her for it
gender is not something that one is, it is something one does, an act... a "doing" rather than a "being". – judith butler
kate Jul 2021
among the summer stupor,
the gleeful pounce

onto that that flies
on diaphanous wings

tracing secret silver spirals

small bursting berries in tiny flaxen fingers
blue blackberry mouthfuls
the boys of summer with indigo grins and legs akimbo

their chorale sweet and brimming between
the shrinking hours

a jovial furor against a backdrop of blue
kate Jul 2021
the silence becomes solace,
the rebellion of the recluse sidles into habit

and grief becomes poetry, spiraling in saccharine
hues in its last hours

which await the acquaintance,
the rendez-vous in the velvet slump of morning,
those empty hours where one searches and find little

but the symposium of those hunched in the cold kiss of nightfall
juvenile and indignant and in blind-folded revolt,
the macabre their muse,
the idealists meet anguish
and find suicide the summit of art

oh january, the deep blue belly of winter
in her blackened arms holds the poet's affliction
to love the soft heave of the melancholic

stumbling upon the warbling croons of their literature
flirting with the abyss
their ink slips and envelopes
kate Mar 2021
i watch astral rivers pool into puddles on concrete and
witness the momentary crackle of memory
shimmering in their kinetic reflections

i see my unspent face, my refracted star-eyes
rippling across the water

then blue, blooming raindrops dashed
onto the cosmic looking-glass,
sparrow-like... flighty mirror magic faltering in the rain's blooming breath
kate Jan 2021
darkness on foamy peaks, on low valleys descended
as drooping moons divulge their divaricating secrets
ripening on blackened branches, spiralling across
orb-like - yellow bellied and full

along aerial courses, wind cresting through apertures
landing in cloying piles under windowpanes, moonlight flutters
glass refracts the silver limbs of light that unfold
upon themselves restlessly

bursting forth, a cagey night shifting on limbs
misanthropic and strong willed, bending its silver knees
into loamy earth - its shrouding body, dark and stirring
ocean-like, its tides move incessantly
kate Jan 2021
acuity soon softens, fermented by a sapid surf singing of elusive green tides and driftwood epiphanies left to litter dulce shores

each sun bleached body is fissured and crumbling, our freckled limbs akimbo across coquina terraces of fossilized froth, we trace the

speckles of sunburnt kisses between collarbones, as the scathing day's paramours, our bronzed shoulders are branded with mermaid embraces

at the calves of palm branches' sapless colloquy detailing tangy, cloven skies and the velvet undulations of acerbic white sands that tangle with infant foam

the ocean orates in guttural, white capped hymns which crescendo on shivering sand, sirens draped in cerulean blue murmur their tidal magic

and across our suntanned faces, the shadows of intumesced clouds rest, as wind carries the fragrance of droves of sea bitten fruits into salt-weary nostrils

our nomadic conversation shies and shimmers, surfing vagabond currents, the afternoon's tidal effervescence purses these escapades

in shivering boughs of sea mist, the ocean swathes shore-ridden limbs, the promised praxis of the sea as she croons from her maritime confines
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