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natalie-marie-kinseyPoems
I’m reading Italian Vogue and trying to set my spit on fire. Where the **** did all these sneaky longings come from? Yesterday I was a woman with a reasonable hoard of contentment. Today I am shiverfish on this tiny rug between us learning the shapes of my own long latent and thank god still purring longing these days my pages are full of the most horrible poetry. Don’t give a fig kind of poetry, the kind of ***** greed to feel at all, to hang on kind of poetry that simply should not be shared. So, here it is. I’m making a dress. I’m rinsing my lungs out with vinegar. I’m recoding my dreams into Sanskrit I’m climbing out the window and taking the roof I’m dipping the frogs in eggs and fire sauce I’m reorganizing my clothepins collection from spring to pinch and back again I keep Neruda in my pocket and take a hit every hour or so: *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.*
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Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
Isles of Yours
I’m reading Italian Vogue and trying to set my spit on fire. Where the **** did all these sneaky longings come from? Yesterday I was a woman with a reasonable hoard of contentment. Today I am shiverfish on this tiny rug between us learning the shapes of my own long latent and thank god still purring longing these days my pages are full of the most horrible poetry. Don’t give a fig kind of poetry, the kind of ***** greed to feel at all, to hang on kind of poetry that simply should not be shared. So, here it is. I’m making a dress. I’m rinsing my lungs out with vinegar. I’m recoding my dreams into Sanskrit I’m climbing out the window and taking the roof I’m dipping the frogs in eggs and fire sauce I’m reorganizing my clothepins collection from spring to pinch and back again I keep Neruda in my pocket and take a hit every hour or so: *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.*
natalie-marie-kinsey
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natalie-marie-kinsey
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
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