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 Apr 2013 ladyfunnybones
CR
yes how fitting that she is what she is
inescapable and terrorized by what she is
and tries on deaf ears to illustrate that color is terror
when it fades, and when it breaks

how fitting that she left the winter in her wake
how fitting that she didn't feel it following her, shadowed, sinister

that one word gaining myth and momentum as we go (and we go, and we go)
it does not define itself; how fitting her frenzy to define it
in the inherent vacuum where it cannot breathe

how fitting that she stumbled and reversed the seasons
and that orange blends with autumn ground but not with april
and when it fades, and when it breaks
it isn’t ever overlooked
or forgotten
In the grove of Isla Negra,
his beloved by his side,
lies Pablo Neruda-
Does his grave conceal a lie?

Forty years since he departed,
Four decades in the clay,
A Judge in Santiago
calls him forth to light of day.

This poet was a mortal soul
whose love illumed his lines.
Was he murdered in the hospital,
or did cancer end his time?

He said Love’s time is brief
and is much longer forgotten-
But he could extend its lease
With Love sonnets he’d begotten.

Did Pinochet eliminate
The poet left alone.
He was lying in the hospital,
Defenseless, it was known.

Did a needle give that lover’s pinch
That hurts, but is desired?
Or did Cancer gnaw his bones
relentless like wildfire?

The bones will tell, They always do
Though mortal flesh decays
So we disturb the poets’ sleep
This resurrection day.
The remains of the Chilean Poet, Pablo Neruda, have been ordered exhumed to test the theory that he was murdered by lethal injection to silence his opposition to the military dictatorship of Pinochet. Verse four is a paraphrase of a Pablo Neruda quote. There are little nods to Shakespeare in verse 4 and a direct reference to a famous line from Shakespeare's Anthony and Cleopatra in the first two lines of the sixth verse
I kissed a boy with a fever in hopes that he would burn through my thoughts,
but the flame did not fill the gap between my ribs.
I kissed him, lips chapped, bleeding after.
I kissed a boy hard, to make something there that was not.
The look upon his face was full of adoration until he saw my face,
And for a second he looked into my eyes and I was worried he would see what no one else knew.
But he did not, he only smiled as I walked away, like he was content,
But I was not.
But loneliness burns hotter and meaner than fire.
on the thirteenth night of
our affair
i kissed her forehead
said goodbye

i wrote that night how
her collarbone felt like
a noose trapping a
sheep before slaughter

i never ****** her again.
you are a car wreck at 75 miles per hour
that i cannot take my eyes off of
on a saturday morning with lo-fi radio
speaking the sun
as it breathes life into this death setting:
i’ll grow stories wrapped with truth
because it’s hard to only speak truth when
we are both so damaged, tangled
wrapped in the backseat like a baby on it’s first day home

******* the way you
lace fingers in the tea-kettle black ***
coughing up a lung as sacrifice to the ancient gods who told me
on my 18th birthday that
you would taste so good across my lips
no matter how split, how dry, chapped, and hungry
they were -
******* the way you
split aching bodies in two
one half of pain seated on the devil’s tongue
one half of pleasure begging god
please let me get what i want
and i have to tell you
it is not a melody i have gotten used to

because you are still that car wreck i can’t pull my eyes from
even when life is sprouting from my own hands
tugging at my own silvery strings connected to you
and connected to everything
i unknowingly snip those silver strings of fate
and let you hang in the breeze
of the way i have been taught to say
please
 Apr 2013 ladyfunnybones
noruwei
it's true
they did love you once.
feared you too, but
maybe that's the same thing,
gave you
roast pigs and animal pelts
and you didn't even have to ask.
a pretty good arrangement.

now
i'm the only one that sticks around
and even then only
when i'm bored.
i'm taunting and i'm cruel and you, love,
are not a great conversationalist
but
it evens out.

so i get to
take jabs at you
til you're frothing at the mouth,
like seafoam, briny
shaking valleys and hills with
your anger. and i can't help but laugh
at you. you,
with your dusty ruby eyes
(that lie now in a museum
somewhere
because the white men walked into your temples and plucked them right out -)
and your stone paws,
roughly hewn, mossy,
ugly.
we laugh and laugh
about what you lost
between galileo and darwin and euler,
so many years and the
backs of men.
npwm 5
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