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twelve caesuras Oct 2016
all the branches of the trees started at the same place and i was all emerald jewels wrapped in blue velvet while she was amber steamed in grape leaves and she was teaching me how to count in turkish and i joked and said my gender was an angry swarm of bees and i fell asleep on her shoulder and felt her stroking my hair through my dreams
twelve caesuras Sep 2016
you are
the sky at its best, when
all of the cloud tribes meet,
an amalgamation of sururrus societies
ancient civilizations mending together

a soirée in the stratosphere
icy eyed cirrus staring down
on the fluffy head of a cumulus
you are
the thousandth conversation and the  silence of
all nine hundred ninety-nine others

and i suppose i am your newest wound:
the sizzling **** of lightning that
desecrated this halcyon
twelve caesuras Sep 2016
the plants that grew in my absence were
enough to make absinthe, and
                    ambrosia          bloomed
where my footsteps had left indentations
in the grass.

{     and i am beautiful enough
               to make the gods come down
                     but the games they play
          send rot to my rosy, thorny crown.     }

the talons of the mountainous beast
           that brought me to meet you, past the exosphere
                    dug           deep
into my flesh, leaving pretty pink scars
that wore your name.

*{     i never thought about living past the end of time
          nor filling cosmic chalices with mead
               but you thought me divine and told me so with hurricanes
          and stole me from earth with your greed.     }
twelve caesuras Sep 2016
within the small cavities of my sun-bleached bones dwell ghouls and goblins that
wear your face.

the obsidian tunes they grumble from disuse are reminiscent of some strange incantation
circled by salt and sage and chalcedony.

abraxas tought me arithmetic and wrote jade beneath my skin
on a naked nape
did he sign his name with new colors.

i heard peculiar whispers in my sheets last night,
for i am haunted
by ills that are not mine to take to bed.
twelve caesuras Aug 2016
if i could hold love in my hands
it would seep through and fall into someone else's, i think,
a viscous substance that forever changes shape, evolves,
drips into the lines of your palms and makes a home there
no matter how hard you scrub.

it would stay there even as you told yourself
that you were better off without it, greedily licking it off of your hands and hiding it under your tongue.

and when you finally forgot about it, or perhaps tucked it away in the recesses of your mind—
someone would brush against you in the crowd, their smile like a field of daisies, and the colors of their voice would begin to seep into your skin anew.
twelve caesuras Apr 2016
so this       is
       what        it's
to feel alive.       i

                             don't                believe


be                 meeting           for

                    some          time.
twelve caesuras Apr 2016
there are several small organs
within me
that i am sure
are filled with sweet candies,
carnations, and tiny, lost
bone fragments that pierce
my stroma and write
rings around my neck
as if i breathe the residue
of nebulas and circle
toxic giants in
the cold
in the dark

several things
live in the cracks
of the walls of my
old volumes and
dusty globes that creak
as they whirl
rusted blades and paper
a thousand shards of glass,
like a tiny section
of the
galaxies i'll never meet
grafted into my skin

drop dead sang the chorus
but antigone never
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