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Sarah Ouhida Jul 2016
“the dark is empty; many of our heroes have been wrong”
it is so violently soothing,
this abyss of ours.
Let me give you my heart
beneath a red moon
and let us seal all of our sins with a poisonous kiss.
Hail Mary for all that you’ve done for me,
Hail Mary for all that we have endured,
our pain isn’t love
and the wine that we shared
is the blood of our sacrifice.
Rosary and a deathhand, I forgive you
Rosary and a deathhand, I love you
Rosary and a death hand, I hate you.
“Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow,”
these words escape my lips, and I ask to myself
how did we end up like this, my darling,
on our knees, begging to a false and lying God
and the crimson in the snow,
paints a picture of our souls,
so scarred and alone; all I can do is beg
crucify me, my darling,
and leave me to die,
then breathe all life
into my cold lips;
oh it is so warm in this endless abyss,
and deep in my melancholy heart,
I do not wish to be brought back to life
so leave me here, baby
drowning in silver tears of empty recollections
and a rosary and a deathhand.
Kiss the thorns of the withering rose,
and show me your love; show me your gun,
together, we can be Sid and Nancy,
together forever
dead on the winter floor.
this was originally written about three years ago. I had refined it in certain areas, but overall its still intact.
Connor Feb 2018
I

February

Einbahnstraße in a
night of black arrowheads/jazz, obliteration perfume/
the twinkle of your
eyes which are engulfed
by youthful nymphs

Fur-lined sable coat
& I
in a jean jacket, hair styled back/
the perspiring windows of Paul Gustavus
open to reveal alizarin (death of day)
velvet curtains
(an appetite for moonlight &
mirrors) the reverberation
echochamber settles over us infused
with alcohol and tea leaves

Basement seclusion,
Deutsch in every direction

Woodstove heat/harsh truths exist in
a Blue Rose of cackling ash, left
disentangled ... duskdancer and copperhue-rooftop Saharas
 billowing madly

conversation as a
room full of isolation, lip -
eye, breath -
hairline/drifting to attic enticement,
bedsheets ruffling like
a winged dove

(insertion/devotion)

I am a North American phantom speaking through written paragraphs

& on my second drink a voice
persuasively licks my thigh/come up from the uneven ground

"feed the moon

relinquish fear

-blindness & burden, parish your
      anticipation for fire"


II

In my restlessness later on, I realize
all I can do is keep my head
high, mimic hope, mimic strength knowing we are
but one brief collision of beautiful
time purposed to split off again
towards a chaos larger than
ourselves.

Remembering The Woman in The Dunes..

"There was a drooling wolf...there was the sun. And, somewhere, he knew not where...there must also be a storm center and lines of discontinuity"

our own repitition of love & labor, warding off the deathhand which always comes back around

... How far do we have to go for lasting tenderness?

III

March


Australian sand/I erase my flesh
in Summer fruit/the air is thick,
I have stopped wearing leather

With iron humility
I task myself to
tillling a steeple into
a breaking cloudbeam

— The End —