Saudade
you foster position in my yellow rooms
your voices is cadence like gauze curtains
pulled back in the wind, into yellow room
like this, your words and mine fit together
your words become the surface of my skin
my painted concrete walls
your words are a puff, are planetary rings around me
like this my body breathes with the breath of my
calm the surface these covers flipping waving turned back
bring me closer to this touch this touch all over me
quit the sea the crashing flow the fall of all all over me
arms crossed and the goods careening out
grocery bags stumble and kiss the ground
she's running and-
is something before or behind?
is a woman more likely to run away or have
something desperate to get to before her?
the rape statistics, the catcalls, the fear in her
eyes never turns down
the dial up high - but still
damn, there's a lot, a goal, a peaked tower
a place to be and woman's right to fucking be there -
to aim for
sign me over to the gods
we don't know their names,
they who seek to give us hope
those whose hope is reason enough to live
who allow sun to trickle in earthly direction
of course, we do not know them
allow me to to swaddled, passed from arm
thin darklit arm to hairy freckled arm to
allow me to be given them as offering
my eyes to close and earth turned down
wisp of quiet curtain against my soul
spoil with your touch
my skin
keep it sullen newborn easy
keep my heart swaddled keep it pleased
and smiling with curling lips like unfinished ferns
soft with dew and green and fuzz of leaf to come
capture my heart
tug it loose with your warm
press it against you
release all that you have not with me upon me
do not let it go shy and turn down its head
do not let me keep it clear
only to rear up with teeth and scorn
do not let my presence fire burn you
in my absence
keep me honest
keep you honest
keep us honest both and one
Masked:
palimpsests
over-arched with perched phrasings
most precise, more impeccable
than the first
there are so many books
whose words like pools of sweat
have been worth naught
are now worth less
on creaked-wood shelves
that topple with bankruptcy
as often as fires
it goes
becomes again
and never has been
Revival:
crescendos
streams into microphones
only end when the crowd has whispered their last critique
sent glances o'er shoulders
launched themselves, laughing, at lovers
whose love will end
god
scream for me
they never end
they never cease
they never stop feeling the scream
rapping in the dead end of their mind
hearts across palms
seared there with kisses
there is so much
shivering naked in rooms I walked into
these witches
press fingers against me
lead me
by the blanket's warm hem
it's like the world is saving up all its positive moments right now, scrimping hard so that later there'll be plenty but it means right now, there's just sorrow, there's just tragedy, there's just pain and no fucking reprieve
it means that right now, the being here doesn't feel worth it. almost ever.
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