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 Aug 2014 Miranda Wang
white hot morning,
deep enough I feel your heartbeat in my belly
and all will dry like cement

when I reached in and drew our initials
the bend of my fingers
stir up the dancing dust only visible
beneath sunlight,
you drug it into me with your tightrope your i’m sorry
i won’t be so rough this time

your veins mumbling against the parts of my
body that are a sponge,
i am only going to bleed for good things
now and you should too
but every hole I have
wanted to say that they only ever bled for you

because I like feeling warm in winter
trick myself into thinking
I do not have to wear socks, you look like the moon
with shooting stars
of sweat pouring down your back

everything drips
like it is trying to make my ***** wetter.
 Aug 2014 Miranda Wang
I am writing notes to ghosts
and realizing
that there are some bad habits I will always go
back to.

The morning has opened its eyes
through sea salt
the Sandman in
an abandoned bedroom

swim through our curtains
its white skin

I am
next to the ocean.

I do not belong to myself, nor
the shadows –
I have donated all of my years to men
until they are old enough
to be gods

and how I have fallen on my knees
as they grew to be
too old for me

the earth never is. I don't love
it enough, still

nothing aches more like trying to be better
when dirt forms crescents
like a moon
beneath your fingernails.
 Jan 2014 Miranda Wang
He has a mouth like morning
and picked me up
from the ground by the ten second rule,
the time it takes for one hundred thirty million
babies to open their mothers,
four hundred times he could have been
on the train to come back.

He says I say I’m sorry in circles
but Earth does it,
her new cycle every day,
why can’t I.

He should say
he is sorry in circles: there have
been nearly three hundred sixty five trains
we knew how to **** each others’
sadness through a straw
and not puke, he would try to swallow it all.

He must see me as
moss now, frizzy-haired, meant to be
laid to rest
on the floor for everyone to
trip over
because I am the reason that leap years exist -
the skipping stone, spread water
on the ones I love
so they’ll be heavy and sink with me.

He must taste recycled beauty on me,
the way new light
turns the beds of his lips pink.

(I could not be her)
he needs to say sorry until our hearts are
the same shade of blue
from suffocating below everyone,
the bottom of
the ocean waiting to resurface as a wave.
I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
 Nov 2013 Miranda Wang
ns ezra
—all im saying is
dont you ever get sick
of the salt in the air and
the mist that contains you
the winds that know your name
the boys with crooked teeth
who turn to men with crooked fists
knuckles like mountain ranges
everything pointed,
like a misplaced patient
confined to the morgue
under sheets of skin
and hair and fingerprints
saying “look at me, girl”
with their eyes dark
chests swelled
"look at me when i talk to you"?
 Nov 2013 Miranda Wang
ns ezra
you drink to lose weight
i want to start smoking
southern comfort; a lucky strike
it's poetry--bruises on my thigh
where you almost hit gold
youre getting closer, i know it

teeth go crooked, grow apart
you almost tell me something sweet
next dance, between ****** feet, broken ankle
dont worry: it burns to the ground
the world wont listen but youve nothing to say
im getting closer, i know it

in a fit you take me to your first home
turn for me pages of teary-eyed diaries
tender, light-fingered: obviously lying
a sad necessity--but theres things left to know
places left to go, and well i wonder
arent we getting closer?
 Oct 2013 Miranda Wang
arco iris
have you ever seem the mouth of a person on psychedelic drugs
their lips stretch in all directions
blissful eyelids creased feeling
little lines
a smile that says
welcome to the limitless universe

you and i drove to oregon in my nightmare
but only after the scary part was over
cruise control
streaks of morning color on the highway when we got to the coast
and drove over the rock
and drove over the wet sand
and drove into the sea
and the waves crashed over us as if to say
welcome to the limitless universe
and silently we answered

at four in the morning you rode your bike to the gas station
the streetlights bled out onto asphalt
ice slick
the illuminated glow-sign posted in the lot
said welcome to the limitless universe
street tires thin as ribbons
4 dollars in your pocket

during a dissociative episode i hit myself over and over
i am still learning how to be kind
i motioned to the spaces around me saying
there is nothing left to find
it is all here, i am here, welcome
to the limitless universe

you breaking my heart is not a cosmic response to all the people whose hearts i have broken
but it sure as hell feels that way and i’m
sorry for the numb that settles over my face to mask
the feelings it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with
so i burden myself and i welcome
the limitless universe
 Oct 2013 Miranda Wang
the black pavement met me with two toes
and I realized
it is hot because hell is underneath.

ribbons and your cologne
lead me to elevation, but that just gave
me farther to fall –

I learned
how the moon cannot take a full breath
so she donated her lungs
to the sun in a tiny glass bottle, glued them
on with twisty ties from bread.

that is how rays
were made.

mornings are made of night’s death –
a garland of stars
that just drop
or dissolve upon a devil’s pepper kiss.

you welded your teeth to my skin
and I felt the burn
so intensely, I knew you belonged in hell.
 Sep 2013 Miranda Wang
Here is where the waves spray
Into your face and slide down,
In the sun it seeps inside and
You can’t get it out.
You left me alone to
Swim inside of our memories
Until I was pruned all over,
Until the scars didn’t show.
You didn’t want me before those
Thirty days into summer
When you waded out too deep
And felt the current sweep you back.
You kept your head down, like mine
You ****** in what was two molecules away
From your salvation, a salty, unholy substitute.
Always drowning yourself with all the wrong substances.
You swam back ashore two months too late,
After I was cocooned dry,
I was not waiting for you by the lighthouse
It shouldn’t surprise you – you never asked.
“It had always been my plan,”
You breathed into my side,
To leave me too far in the depths.
You are the reason why I learned to swim.
 Sep 2013 Miranda Wang
when you die
  where does the soul go?

back in the soil
to grow out as a beautiful daffodil

up to heaven
to reunite with your loved ones

below the earth
to enter the gates of the Underworld

into someone else's heart
to spread the legacy

when you die,
   where does the soul go?

because I will search every plant, fly up to any distance, dig every grain of dirt,  delve into everyone's heart

to find your soul once more.




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