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"incessancy" poems
And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings, Snow melts off ruddy cheeks and boils to the atmosphere Patchwork skies and yellow air. We threw snow behind our shoulders for lack of any salt Steeped, stewed and warded off our demons, Invoking the wrath of the wandering cars And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings. A lonesome traffic light directs the phantom engines The dewy skylights have yet been good to me A fog of breaths entwined lift up to the patchwork skies and yellow air. As our tinny music on cell phones dampened the stillness The lamps shone out to nobody still Loud, jarring, paling the night sky’s starlight, And the moon that seeps through the runs in my stockings Our riotous whisperings Were but cracks in the ice Our cigarettes were torches held against the patchwork skies and yellow air This city is a tyrant Its icy stillness grasping through my clothes The stillness sears my inhibitions, the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings We fell into the yellow cab Made inert by our indiscretions, plagued By the moon that seeped into the runs in my stockings, The rosy skies and clearing air.
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Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
h-thayer
incessancy
And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings, Snow melts off ruddy cheeks and boils to the atmosphere Patchwork skies and yellow air. We threw snow behind our shoulders for lack of any salt Steeped, stewed and warded off our demons, Invoking the wrath of the wandering cars And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings. A lonesome traffic light directs the phantom engines The dewy skylights have yet been good to me A fog of breaths entwined lift up to the patchwork skies and yellow air. As our tinny music on cell phones dampened the stillness The lamps shone out to nobody still Loud, jarring, paling the night sky’s starlight, And the moon that seeps through the runs in my stockings Our riotous whisperings Were but cracks in the ice Our cigarettes were torches held against the patchwork skies and yellow air This city is a tyrant Its icy stillness grasping through my clothes The stillness sears my inhibitions, the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings We fell into the yellow cab Made inert by our indiscretions, plagued By the moon that seeped into the runs in my stockings, The rosy skies and clearing air.
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27
Ah, The cyclical effect Of generational trauma The incessancy of his Encroaching dark aura He refuses to look past his umbra He cannot perceive the pain he inflicts I'm sure that He doesn't even wallow - only wails A piteous cry. A melodramatic howl And he dares to sit there and wonder Why no ties prevail? He is an old man now And still he believes That the disease that was he, Was nothing more than An elaboration. A tease. The last so-called apology he had given I had somehow still accepted gladly The girl, still clutching one last note She slid it under the door And hoped Silly girl, She should have known That hope is dead There was never any perception No conception of his venom Two decades later, And still he wails This woman does not feign indifference Moonflowers abloom, Defiant in their noctilucence **** him and his darkness! How dare his mere presence Make my stems cower I'd thought those memories Had begun to wither Fading, obscuring into evanescence But he'd made my leaves quiver And here I am again, Trying to bloom Again
0
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 12:20 AM UTC
Aflame
Silly Girl
Ah, The cyclical effect Of generational trauma The incessancy of his Encroaching dark aura He refuses to look past his umbra He cannot perceive the pain he inflicts I'm sure that He doesn't even wallow - only wails A piteous cry. A melodramatic howl And he dares to sit there and wonder Why no ties prevail? He is an old man now And still he believes That the disease that was he, Was nothing more than An elaboration. A tease. The last so-called apology he had given I had somehow still accepted gladly The girl, still clutching one last note She slid it under the door And hoped Silly girl, She should have known That hope is dead There was never any perception No conception of his venom Two decades later, And still he wails This woman does not feign indifference Moonflowers abloom, Defiant in their noctilucence **** him and his darkness! How dare his mere presence Make my stems cower I'd thought those memories Had begun to wither Fading, obscuring into evanescence But he'd made my leaves quiver And here I am again, Trying to bloom Again
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