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Quinn May 2018
i love my dandelion daydreams
that grow on unmarked graves

i love dancing with their
seedsprout whiteheads in a
river of me

i love to toy with my
dandelion (daydreams) and

pretend that each one
is the hand of a corpse
taking its final

(maggot rodden)
grip of fresh air.
i tried to take a picture of a dandelion for 20 minutes but it wasn't pretty - so i wrote a poem instead :)
  May 2018 Quinn
Woody
Death, sleep, and lovers.
The clock and the coffin.
The crawdads, the stars.
The great satisfaction of night.
The worn-out clothes of life.
Feathers woven together.
A book about birds and the art
of learning how to fly.
  May 2018 Quinn
George Anthony
you
may you never be satisfied with having the world;
i hope you find happiness
and continue to search for more.
this world, though beautiful, could never be reward enough
for you.
seek the stars.
you deserve a lot more than you'll let yourself dare believe
Quinn May 2018
follow me
my little
deathling
(my tiny
frozen
flame)
let me show you

let me make your frozen fingertips-
tendrils of falling
frost
that kiss the ground

in a mixture of sky and earth that is
both of us (somehow)

sit yourself on the
pinprick spindril
mountains

and let me throw myself
at you with all my might

and maybe you
fall from your
tallplaces

until you realize that unless you hit the ground

falling
is
flying

let yourself fly into me

let yourself become the monster
that you always saw in the mirror

scream at me your deathly dialogue.

scare me.

let all the darkness out
of your ashen mouth
like a bird running
out of air to fly on.

expose me to your suffering
make me your worldly attachment
(i dare you)

battle me.

exhaust yourself until
you realize that i am your
arms

and i can fight myself forever.

fight for your dusty body

hope that you can return to it

realize,

that you cannot.

see yourself as a congregation of
mud
and wind
and water.

become the flame that set you free.

and set fire (the world) that killed you.
Quinn Apr 2018
i wasn't tired until you
fell into my arms

and i wasn't tired until
i threw a thousand
weightless snowdrops
to the ground

and i didn't hurt until
the first word
and now
my home is a loud
roar of reverberations
that pass through me

(like a million spoken knives)

and i didn't understand
pain. Until your somebody
stumbled into me

and i couldn't let go
(because they were made of ash)

and i felt the weight
of so many somebodies
(suddenly)

and i began
to think

that - my existence
(the sea
the sky
and the nothing between)
manifested to
pulverize
the
planet
with
each
further
strained
breath
until
it
can
feel
each
pinprick
loss
of
life
it
enforces.

And maybe my rage
forged bellowing
stormclouds over deserts
or made rivers flow backwards
from storm surge (tear driven)
but the somebody i'm not

and the somebodies i carry

will never
be more threatening
than a fadeaway
wind that cries with the lone
wolf.
  Apr 2018 Quinn
Rajinder
Her tender skin sprouts
green shoots
a wreath,
at the foot of tree
she was buried.

On the trunk
her face appeared, a
morphed stump.

The bark, her coffin
split, where demons clawed.

A number, worms out
indelible scars, 452.

Frozen chambers of mortuary
await the next,
a child, a girl, a dalit, a musalman.
A cattle herder.
Or, the silent you, you and you.
To the 8 year old Kathua girl, durgged, ***** and murdered.
Quinn Apr 2018
the police radio is
screaming
like your mother-
(never has)
but i didn't
hear you in the
background

and when
i went to
see you
you wore a hat
to cover the
bullet wound
above your neck.

and you didn't move
even when i cried
(for you)
(because of you)

and i cried because
death
is supposed
to be beautiful

it is supposed
to be a
collaboration
of fungus
and blackness
that ends in
a teardrop.

death is not supposed to hurt (me)

it feels like
the first time
that i fell in love
because

when he left me

a part of me was scrambled into the pinpricks of the night
sky
(and i haven't been the same)

when he left me

i couldn't breathe

because he could knock the wind out of me
with his eyes (stareheavy)

and when you left me

i couldn't breathe

because you were my  
breath.

and because now

when i breathe
i think of you

and my throat betrays me,

like your trigger finger betrayed you.

friend, please,

when i sit above the circle of ash,
(that was you)

spin yourself around me until once again -

you may be (yourself) my lungs.
i miss you friend !
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