"cuscuta" poems - Hello Poetry

boy who craves a darker shadow not just shade, but hunger wrapped in smoke and bone, under headlines wife’s sister’s affairs rot at the root. hemlocked, nameless, hair knotted with cuscuta string; ghost-vines rope his wrists like hungry knuckles. the hollow-eyed boy carves a bar and calls it scripture, trades green for powder, profit for blood; he’d slit a throat before he spares a leaf. how does that nameless leaf keep grieving? how does it stay alive? it roots in rot it drinks their blood and keeps on green. .

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Sep 25, 2025

Sep 25, 2025 at 10:26 AM UTC

VanessaRue

Boy who carves shadow

boy who craves a darker shadow not just shade, but hunger wrapped in smoke and bone, under headlines wife’s sister’s affairs rot at the root. hemlocked, nameless, hair knotted with cuscuta string; ghost-vines rope his wrists like hungry knuckles. the hollow-eyed boy carves a bar and calls it scripture, trades green for powder, profit for blood; he’d slit a throat before he spares a leaf. how does that nameless leaf keep grieving? how does it stay alive? it roots in rot it drinks their blood and keeps on green. .

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The serpent in my gut will hiss for months before it strikes gripping organs like cuscuta dripping venom like a hungry dog Sometimes I try to drown him in the sound waves but when I lay down again his never-ending sibilation echoes softly in my skull Once or twice I thought I heard a word in his relentless sound a syllable of foreboding a threat upon a draft But there is no substitute for anticipation. And when he bites, my ribs leave splinters in my laboring lungs.

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Oct 4, 2016

Oct 4, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC

katherine-1

The serpent in my gut

The serpent in my gut will hiss for months before it strikes gripping organs like cuscuta dripping venom like a hungry dog Sometimes I try to drown him in the sound waves but when I lay down again his never-ending sibilation echoes softly in my skull Once or twice I thought I heard a word in his relentless sound a syllable of foreboding a threat upon a draft But there is no substitute for anticipation. And when he bites, my ribs leave splinters in my laboring lungs.

12

Under the Bridge, along the Promenade: we walked with words trickling through our waxy lips. Where the Seafront was all silk. Where the Waxwings, sealed wax tips, lumbered about the Empyrean yonder: splayed upon a Canvas of Sapphire and Azure. Before the Starry Night has come. Before we reached the Shore only to Digress. "Liebe verleiht Flügel," I heard, or read in a Book. The Streets are crimson rust; The Spectators in Sanitariums watched drab passersby. They shambled and coughed admixt the crowded room, only to find the Peristyle vacant and dead. A Mantic Women, cards of dread, stands on the corner; our eyes catched, and She speaks: "Wo bist du?" "Wo bist du?" Louder and fists shaking: "Wo bist du?" The buildings doddered, filled with Cuscuta. In Montauk, where we met, now withered, covered in snow, I stood - my comportment unsteady. Flashing in the distance I see Point Light - Captain Kidd musing with his Money Ponds - an Angel guiding wonderous blights - The Recognitions, blimey, Mr. Gaddis has gone blind - The Faustian apotheosis abound - The Streets are crimson rust filled with dread. Smelling of Jack-by-the-hedge - I'm walking... Noctivagant aura permeates - Mich.

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Jan 29, 2018

Jan 29, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC

MrRokesmith

Wo bist du?

Under the Bridge, along the Promenade: we walked with words trickling through our waxy lips. Where the Seafront was all silk. Where the Waxwings, sealed wax tips, lumbered about the Empyrean yonder: splayed upon a Canvas of Sapphire and Azure. Before the Starry Night has come. Before we reached the Shore only to Digress. "Liebe verleiht Flügel," I heard, or read in a Book. The Streets are crimson rust; The Spectators in Sanitariums watched drab passersby. They shambled and coughed admixt the crowded room, only to find the Peristyle vacant and dead. A Mantic Women, cards of dread, stands on the corner; our eyes catched, and She speaks: "Wo bist du?" "Wo bist du?" Louder and fists shaking: "Wo bist du?" The buildings doddered, filled with Cuscuta. In Montauk, where we met, now withered, covered in snow, I stood - my comportment unsteady. Flashing in the distance I see Point Light - Captain Kidd musing with his Money Ponds - an Angel guiding wonderous blights - The Recognitions, blimey, Mr. Gaddis has gone blind - The Faustian apotheosis abound - The Streets are crimson rust filled with dread. Smelling of Jack-by-the-hedge - I'm walking... Noctivagant aura permeates - Mich.

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