And just like that you slipped in from the summer,
window-blind-wide, and seriously radial-blurred.
And I thought, whoa, how fun.
For real,
a thespian hum, and a bit of a fleshful,
that blood-tuned magic of yours, you know?
And I was like, “hey! Why still so headlight-shy? Haha.”
And then you just pushed the stars to fly like a volley of arrows
and cracked all those mountains like glass. Ouch.
I freaked out,
and yelled, “if it’s a recombination, please don’t leave me intact,
make of me a crooked scar on some grassy field, or melt me
into a lake, inside a cave, long and dark.”
Woods rot, wet cracks, lung snap
no deeper resonance
no riverbed hum
only ragged mists.
This land has been
softened
(marred)
village women, nurse, frown, shut fences
skittish cattle
calves
flank
blank
a stare from the naked echo;
a wolf-like yelp - tendons tight
inner thigh
pelvis, hip
hibiscus
rosehips
lemonbalm
O great ancient one
Leave this circle
Let the hills gather
Let the fault-lines roar.
Les terres sont nues, les collines couvertes
de peaux brutes tannées presque blanc
& on a emporté l’atmosphère en lui coupant
le souffle - comme une bougie dans le noir.
Sols de nuit fredonnent leurs berceuses,
des oiseaux se perchent tête en bas
sous les cèdres
& le moment est enfin
venu quand mon ombre s'est enfuie avec
un étranger.
Arylide (Precession) by ThyPoetSorcerer, literature
Literature
Arylide (Precession)
[Alternate version (English with French postlude) follows]
& jours de bois flotté auront transmué en promesses défaiillantes,
sèches sur place—des roses fanées sur l’ancien rebord de marbre,
attendant patiemment les vents de tempêtes pour se laisser éclater,
leurs échelles translucides infusant l'air avec le parfum rouillé qui étaient
les marées dans mon sang & la saumure de mes prières les plus calmes.
& ce qui reste, doit toujours graviter ardemment vers l’argon-arylide
de ton sillage—obstinée à te rattraper—sans jamais s’y rendre.
We should be dark figures on the beach again,
me, your cave thing once more, untucked out
of a vacuum crevice, lopsided as de-orbits around
suns (can go)
—you can play the languid wing-stroke, billowing
albedo-shine in the lunar wind, as if too light-exhausted
and short-lived to stay collective—
this time I will let you scavenge me by taking me apart,
content to remain jagged and cragged, knowing I won't ever
get a chance to even away.
And when you are gone, the stars may start bleeding
their ancient incantations, demanding I cull the love sighs
we left trapped under warm layers of sand.
i.
Ocher sea of sky—are your angels a perfect
hydrocarbon storm? Is their eye an island
of hush, or a wet fingertip, or sweat under
steel skin?
Is intimate dawn a nitrogen slump,
ethane rain, or lush memories of lust?
ii.
Deep awake dunes—a galvanize
with brass and copperburn. Their
sickle-bodied citrine, exits all out,
curls around tenuous spears of sun.
The Many Worlds Theorem by ThyPoetSorcerer, literature
Literature
The Many Worlds Theorem
On nights like this one, rain and streetlamps
are the exact same thing. Men around the globe
stare like round-eyed owls behind attic windows,
their digits slink away from their sleeves and shoes
like fleeing little mice—whose tiny feet pat-pat to
a seismic stampede. And a tree, a tree is taxonomically
closer to a gusting wind—while doorbells, well, those
just send you into funky reveries, maybe picturing
green children holding silly, alien lunchboxes—
looking submissed under a grimy bus-stop, somewhere
on a forsaken star-system in Cassiopeia. My cat
is both alive and dead, she's licking her wounds
inside our dinner room's
the sea cracks,
all mar, petrichor
& amertume;
planetshine,
clinging
on twin-knived limbs
of thin cartilage
a tight squeeze
sailcloth pores,
sunblood drops
false-night.