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six pm Apr 11


i
am a
sentimental
physicist.
observing
the gravity
of emotion.
noting the
subtle lensing
of light,
as it
filters
passed you
and
distorts my
star weary
eyes.
i must
crunch the
equations &
check them
twice
before
i don
aluminum,
endure
your
endless
cold,
& shoot
for your
moon.•
○.

⁂⁖
.
the
mass
effect
of you
consumes.
hypothesis:
your
spirit’s
path is
visible
light,
racing
towards
a cosmic
wall; to
decorate
galactic sky
as microwave
impressionism.
•°.


.
to
make
sense of
your dark,
i spend
my nights
measuring
boundless
black
matter that
surrounds us.
enraptured
by the
scented skyline
prophesying:
jet propulsion,
serenaded, and
lemonade rainfall;
Armageddon
upon another
acid planet.
your pain
upon the
reaches
still unpinned
by travelled
telescopes;
dying
technologies
making me
jealous of
all the
places where
the universe
sees the
parts
of you
i am
physically
incapable
of being. °
•.

⁖⁕
.
as love
moves
in ellipticals
it eclipses
my heart,
eventually.
always,
the awe
never ceases
to inspire me.
invokes my
muse.
devote my
life to
translating
the beauty of
its euphoria
into the
English
vernacular.
ceaselessly.
to release
the burden of
it’s memory
like the sun
burned into
my retinas.
i compose &
compute each
intangible
equation.
nuance
comprises
itself onto
endless notations.
converting numbers,
filtered through
my limbic system,
into colloquial
prose.
closest words
to illustration,
as my
cerebellum
can
surmise. •
. •°.

•.
code the
sentences
unto
my poems;
my theories
of everything.
presenting
my poetry
to everyone
as my
thesis.
phantoms
obsessing
my mind
my only
tangible
evidence.
am i
still the
only
person
who can
see
how
perfect
we
are?
the
only
person
who
sees
our
future
w­ritten
in the
stars?

-six pm
www.by6pm.art
six pm Apr 3




for fifty days i fasted,

knowing no-thing,

save the retching of my own flesh,

save the pit of my own stomach.



for your arrival safely we sold

our cattle, fashioned a festival

our first kiss –a first sip of wine

on the day break of Pentecost,

at last my fast was over.



we fashioned circles of precious metals

and strung them around each other’s

vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum

proclaimed endurance upon the coming

event horizon of time itself.



space swells with the ancient ruins

of men and women who shed tears

tracing the constellation trails

from one end of an ocean to another

filling the void of voiceless oceans

with metaphoric rapture and appetite

for adventure.



Charles, the smell of desert sand swims

firmly between your pores,

your body warm as the land

cut like mountains

between your biceps

where my head lays

basking in the moments

you are here.



how i adore you so.



proclaim eternity

enter matrimony – eyes wide open

place his heart upon a pedestal

let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle

****** his woefully mortal heart.



roots and petals of calendula

poultice to quell the spasms

you take me in my blood

and i take you in my arms

when the nightmares hurt

worse than the back pain.



you remind me that even in the winter

the carmine-colored cardinal coos

and whistles, awakens the trees and fills

the cold world with sweet song.



i’m unraveled in your high collar,

blue and burned in a freak fire,

raptured by the desert

nothing is forever, we know,

yet everything is possible.



there is no going back.



on this river of time

except maybe we’ll escape

the event horizon burn

as radiation about

the black hole’s radio halo.



dying light is a subjective notion

when you limit every poetic persuasion

to the limits of the human eye.



we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade

into spacetime tapestry,

devote each second

as the present is our own reward

the art of being in love,

the pleasure of being alive.



the future is a metaphor –

as in calling the ocean endless

naming riptides undertow

we: new and other molecules

blur into water, two bodies

one brackish soul. -six pm
A poem about reuniting with my husband.
six pm Mar 30
⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
                                ⁕                             ­ ­                                                               ­  ­                    *                               ⊹
 
· ⊹                                               * ·      · ˚
  ✧
⁕                                                              ­  ­                                                              ­   ­        ⁞

for you i am a tequila sunrise;
for you i am heartbeat panging
through the pages
of schoolgirl crush notebook.
kissing crux of neck bone crest collar,
soft and warm as morning bread.
                                                      .   ­                              •
                            .
                                 ­                 ⁕
you are at least 6′ tall.
i blink.
     .                    *          i am sure.                                    ⊹

   .     ⨀              i say: starlight you are sunshine    ✧                .
   and i love you like buttercups.
i write you sonnets and give you heartbeat
✧             gift wrapped in its parchment.            
            .                             ­        .                        
                               ­    ⋆
                                                              
­you grow 10′ taller.
you are menace and
i am mouse.

i tell you i am falling from your eyelash.
*     you grow larger. 20′ tall now.      
.        •·            13 miles you crest everest.           ⋱        .
i go to hold your hand
but i’m a lonely golden pebble.
                   you ask the clouds a favor;                
to blow their wind and push you away.
                                   .                     º            
                                                              ­
­                             ⊹
you are leaving.
i will stay.
i tell you i need you.
  i feel nothing.  ·•
⁖   •․    i am in the stratosphere; floating        *   .
i am a helium balloon
and you are shrinking.
                               º
                                                            
⋆ ­             you are dusking sunset             .
.    through bleary eye slits      .
and it is getting cold here.
⋰        star sparkle my vision sun sinking            .
º        backlit dropping…      
⊹                  .                             ­                                   ­
  ◐  •             you are              · ˚ ✷.

… my lover?    ⊹

· ˚ ⊹.      you are           ·  º

˚ ⁕      …my height now.       ·•      

no.
you are smaller.
  ✧                 you are sprawling pacific ocean.                   *
whole life ahead of you.

             ∶
⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.              .
                                               ­      º
i am drifting alone.
         i still love you.     
·    .             you are orange melodrama, ⊹            .    ·
you are marmalade paintings
on still-life ocean surface.
you are the west
⊹    
  * ·      ·                              ˚ ✷.
                                          ✧                                  ∗
•                                  
                          ­                                             ​.
                                                          · •                .

       *
⁕                                                              ­­     .

               ✧           and i am gone.                         
                           ­                                    ​

•                      ­ ­           
                                                   ­            ­         ​.
∗                                       ­             ­                               ⁕⊹      * ·      · ˚.
  ✧ ∗
•                                  
                          ­                                             ​.

∗              ­ ­                      ⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
  ✧                                          ⁕
                    ­­     .                                            

every constellation becomes a new map evolving
and i am only marrow
you can see right through me.
i am an open book and you are diary entry.
∗                            .                            ­        ⊹

                         ­  ⁕

           .                                            •
star­tling the starlings with my stories.
∗i regale earth’s ******* mud, her jewel weeds,

dandelion wish clouds,
and the way you kept together everything.
∗                            .                       ­             ⊹

                         ­  ⁕

           .                                            •
fu­r­loughed like an arrow.
you sentenced me to no-thing.
bone marrow bow flung me
with the bow crafted of my own heart strings.
sorry. i couldn’t make it to the moon by morning.
i hope the darkness wasn’t so bad.
i hope you missed me.  

–six pm | *furloughed
  
   ⁕                                                                ­­                .

                     *

                                                            ∗
­­
                                                               ­ ­               •

        *
⁕                                                   ­­                .

                                             ­­                                                ​



•                                  

                      ­                                         ­         ​.

∗         ­                                          ­                      ­          ⁕⊹      * ·      · ˚.
  ✧ ∗

•                                  
                          ­­                                              ​.

∗             ­ ­                       ⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
  ✧                                          ⁕
                    ­­.

∗                                                            ­ ­             

                                                ­  ­             ⁕
A style I've been perfecting since 2016. I love to blend visual art with my poetry.

www.by6pm.art
dailythoughts Feb 16
this hour of the day feels heavy
July Gray Jan 20
I hit my peak so long ago
I was six, on top of the world
On top of the jungle gym,
Not that it was different.
But since then,
rolling downhill
.
um so I'm not gonna post that often anymore (not like I ever did, but) I got a ukelele and it inspired me to finally put music to the poems I write (which usually I have a tune in my head when I write them) I've been meaning to start writing music for a while, and I'm finally doing it :)
Emma Dec 2020
Head buzzing with recriminations, I’m lost.
2. Tired of abandonments, I left early.
3. A fork: the answer or unknown?
4. Stinging hornet knives slash ocean sharp.
5. *******. Now ******* silence deafens.
Cross Boundry Oct 2020
You owe me six years,
six years you took from me.

Six years I spent pining, loving,
pleading with the world to let you love me.

You owe me my ability,
my ability to love is scarred from your carelessness.

Six years you spent carving, stabbing,
killing my love that I continued to give.

You owe me, but I don't think I could bring myself to take it back.
pluviophile Sep 2020
isolation's comforting; none here to object
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