Two people coming together Flirt with hurt for joymix the curves of our personalitiesour nerves wet with weatherskin peels scarred and healingmuscles move through the ebbs and flows of our differenceReshape our swirls of selfToMeltMouldAndMixCarving them to fit as close as atoms allowawkwardly stepping forwardputting the surface together Two separate puzzles, paper crinklesCollage two people
You’re a human collage I’m an emotional miragewe’re a masterpiece worth makinglet’s find a paintbrushpaint what we are feelinga beautiful picturea mixture of our coloursPicture perfect We were just a polaroidfast but nostalgicworth keeping in the photo bookfor when we lookbackto what was
Everything has floated away Fish bones The belly gives birth to pain The tree moves like a dead stone washed by healing water On the banks of a jagged river in the hollow of a fresh wound I take a pager from the pocket of a thunderstorm but remember there is no
On your way to be stuck in traffic No escape by the Riverside Headed home just drove past it Chasing dolls on White Rock tides Drop your dream in the mail then hurry Richmond Post for your Russian bride Mayor’s rant of a Fleetwood foot rub Over the protests where he presides Point Grey down
What peaches and penumbras, Allan!Arrayed so gallantly against the meekTowing tonkas en train de bruit, perforce toAlert the sheep to the falling of the sky.What courage and costume, man!Perching primly, tweeting in treacherous shriek.Yet transparent in their hoarse bleating, by the by.
Defiantly, there grew a lily surrounded by a sea of morning glory it sprouted from soils fertilized with a falsity of promises wept Their violent waves splash at its stalk their twisting vines strangle up its stem. There no longer grew a lily, instead replaced by homogenized glory.
The red half-moon falls in my bath water like dry peony petals from late June. A gold crescent appears for the daughter. I stir my tea, thrice, with a silver spoon. Warm droplets coat my tongue like the sun’s embrace Chamomile, lavender, creamed honey. Shadows swallow a choking maiden’s grace. Cyclical patterns flow in harmony.
A pulse suspended in inka silence that tastes like the edge of timecurling around broken hoursand slipping beneath its skin. I rise from the horizonbut do not break it.A pale fracture in the quietfelt only in the tremorof the earth’s quiet exhale. I unravel the nightwoven from threads too fine to holdhumming through the silencewhere
I’m reading Elle by Donald Glover, and I’m struck by Elle’s predicament. What do you do with a headstrong girl? Fling her over the starboard deck and sail away, mate. Drop her on an impoverished beach with a dying lover and a useless nursemaid. Throw her a bone; a trunk full of posh dresses next to a
Susan Musgrave writes violets into my dreams that leave me flush alone in a field with rows of chiseled stone and flowers, strewn by the wind mauve, magenta, yellow, fuchsia, and persimmon orange i long to lie in a room near the click of her typewriter keys, keys that transform into a gentle metronome that lull
It’s getting hard, For real now. You know that- What? Right? She wants to paint you, Her decalcomania, Colors bleeding like tears. You know that- Why? Right? A flood’s coming soon, Dark water rising, Choking her whispered fears. You know that- Where? Right? Save her, please, Before she sinks, Drowning in dreams left unspoken You
On the edge of a fading shore where the words were heard no more they searched for it, and there it lay trapped in ink, that vanishing rhyme. Their tongue still stirred to speak familiar, they tried just lasting two seconds they said the elders knew it well so far and wide, they cast their
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