"unloosening" poems
dancer of the clouds,
ink of dream,
as if the sky, hushed
and utterly forlorn,
turned a pirouette.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
Is this emptiness
or cosmic space
a love for dark or consummate
absence?
You lay there
and I, here
in the same
tangential uniformity.
we are but together
splintered, then separate,
making no difference.
you, in your place
and I, in mine
like some unattended baggage
dragged mechanically
by a tireless conveyor,
a hound in pursuit
of its own tail in intense circles,
left to my own silence brought
to the brink of all the noise.
*
The morning with its peripatetic
crush of garlic and spry birds.
In an unassuming distance
strip to void, teased to rogue,
the light does not arrive with
its usual taciturn warmth;
your mother gives you a pear
to pare and ******
my mother, the same in giving,
yet another thing worth grazing
say, the old skeleton of an empty
wine bottle,
a cold stride past womb-tender
bungalows and sleep-shaped mailboxes.
the feel of its bone , gutted out of flesh.
a compelling strike of silence
permeates more silence – like a prayer thumbed
down to its last throng.
there will be no dialogue.
this is the same quietude
in miles that assume our places.
maybe once you knew this domicile
like the curve of your bow-leg,
or the glint of your inner thigh.
the word “love” falls flat on the surface,
taking its station amongst the masses,
flying with the birds soon dead in their tracks.
the word “love” slits,
cuts open, unloosening a wound,
your mother in the kitchen paring
the flesh from the bone,
and you hear it,
as we look out of separate windows,
the hush churning sound,
spreading on all fours once in this room.
the morning lays out its hairbreadth
wire of memory
in some place unknown to us,
to size the measure our own,
still yet not ours, you in your home,
and I, somewhere outside the world
fathoming shadows their own things not ours.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
my derelict third year in the drone:
a way to assuage what it feels to
function. to breathe mechanical air.
the rambunctious scent of morning appears
ill, confabulated, lysergic at most.
ladies in lithe dresses pose for pressing scenes.
taken photographs held up in loose light.
pelvises unloosening, ****** on the thoroughfares
fishing for trout as men, men as flowers,
lackadaisical graffiti dropping like simian jaw
upon visions of thigh. everything signatures a suture
so precise like a repair of the lip,
or the rapture of birds in impossibly blue skies.
news was that a fortune was coming in,
and I slept within the masses; dreams deliberately
vandalized and fragged.
they said it would be
marvelous. they said it would not ****
i see a woman
in her 20s. falling subtly, a gingham dress
sexed if not pullulated by flower-heads,
she said it would be darling
my third year in the machine.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
I'm uttering auditory caresses on a payphone, short changed
baying for blood with clenched fists as though blood has congealed in the palm.
Time passes and the mechanism sets into motion,
beeping sounds, sirens for the sentient beast to be feed.
Coppers flung loosely into the gaping mouth,
slowly realising the distance in the echo of the voicemail.
Terrified due to the subdued paroxysms deciding to undulate,
the robin looks to me, for its prototype as the breast swells.
I'm looking in dreams for an escape,
an alternative phantasm, our oscillating hands through the tulip field;,
But I’m scared as our love is falling into sepia landscapes.
The robin sheds its feathers like deciduous leaves and lapses into clay..
Wake up alone in stained bedding where it seems I was not always in solitude,
it's like the sinews of my dreams were torn and you fell within the corporeal world
as I slumbered, unloosening the rags in which I slept, letting me hold the forms of you
that I wish I held, the ones I lost so long ago, and when I am conscious
I beseech you to stay; I'm losing the fragments of who you were and you're losing words and
I’m losing myself, an appendage wilting, disconnected from the whole.
I'm still here, payphone to payphone, I left my charging device at yours
but I'm too scared to knock on your door like it were my own jaw,
and how many dreams have I opened that door to find you there,
you ******* magnolia beam, you lingering sunlight, you nefarious glow,
opened the door to find you there with your hands yearning for me, talking to me
in a ciphered rhapsody, a fading voice in a crumbling periphery;
the saturation of dreams through reality.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
what now moves the mouth of her to speak? giving of weight, unloosening like a child from a mother's
arms and assumes the back of mirrors. giving
as in giving way to salt of sea and coming back with
heaviness of a wave, lapping the abyss is what this ripe blade pushes into her skin when all move
but stray, foreshortening distance like a bullet unwound from a marvelous catch then
prides herself dumb from all contention, aching to part twilight are hands, reaching for sibilant days or simply her once perfume all the world knows.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
Serum sternly slaps
Unloosening your straps
Not as strong as other rhum
But still can bang on your heart drum
It's somewhat soft and somewhat oily
It doesn't taste rough, but rather sweetly
Beginner's drink, but not of avail
What shame, outside of Czech Republic it ain't for sale
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC