stringswhy do I waste all afternoonstrings by FallingAsleepTonight
thinking of names for butterfly weeds
the delicacy of their patrons
their tentative tongues-
and wings of light like shoddy buddha tapestries
pinned to bathroom walls.
I want wings like that.
I've missed a loop in my belt
can you help me fix it?
I'll do all the unbuckling if you can thread it back in
one after the other
can you feel that
after the other.
everyone wants to be told they are composed
of something delicate.
sinew and leather
I believe if we pray to be quivering chitin like butterflies
that is more than enough.
pinned to your walls I am machined tie-dye
and paint dust.
is this all I could want
my belt is on the floor and my eyes are fireless
in the chrysalized morning early light
wipe sinew from my lips
and promise to be a better animal.
head of the ibismy friend lent mehead of the ibis by FallingAsleepTonight
a book she thought
have it now
I told her I've finished,
but I just
have not yet
there is shadowed mysticism
and canopic jars
placated in a dry night
he placed in me
a small desert village
where a young girl
with green eyes
like pond scum
dies in her sleep
like he is dead
on this silent
still breathing earth
he would be
one hundred and five
his bone dust drifting in the soil
the smooth green rot
waiting at my door
a stranger's warm
ancient, upturned bed
I lay and consider
the neck arches
my firm bundle of white cloth
unwrapped and draping
over one edge
I open up
recoil at the smell
passingI'm only seeing the thingspassing by FallingAsleepTonight
I've always seen.
one beautiful woman in high-waisted white shorts
reading a book
black darts of crows
divebombing my neighbor's house.
my old friend in the passenger seat
one drunk in front of us
this next part
I want to gloss over:
we are older, we are older.
the tiny houses of our bodies.
one woman is now a cottage on the shore.
my death is nowhere
the ocean has ceased we can float on the salt.
there is something strong enough to cast the necessary light
and I feel as though I'm a part of it.
no bigger than your thumb
the walls painted in crow.
nothing has died yet but I promise it will.
I see my yesterday as I have always seen it-
a spent candle.
have you seen my light
slowfallgentle and naked is how I saw usslowfall by FallingAsleepTonight
angels plucked and left to sit on the grass.
I've never seen one of us in a t-shirt, have you?
not even in paintings.
we take them off
my feathers drift with your feathers as two kinds of snow.
I brush the crumbles of cloud from your shoulder.
my strip club nativity strings up your eyes as lights
blue and green
my white hands grasping your halo.
if light does come from a place like this
then I want to be light
the pulses of your halo in the grass make me remember in moments.
your bare earth skin
the snow bed of our dead wings
shudder and close.
21, Oregonian, college student studying nothing close to poetry.|
Note me if you'd like to talk, because I like to talk.
None of my work may be used without my permission. I'm pretty lenient on what it can be used for however, so just be sure to contact me first.