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predreamthe night before last i shut
my brain up again, let myself go,
let myself feel the blood feeling
its way to my toes, let myself
not think of anything but pine
cones & the insides of the word
no, how everything must get
curled up severely in its patient
wheels, how sometimes no means
the end premature, but how no
lets me clam up pretty, how it saves
me from the real evils inside my
head, how the dead skin & ideas
crumble into a mess i can't clean
up so i ward them off with no,
so i tell them how to go & how it's
not so bad being alone, how i lied
to my insides to keep them going,
how i told the lie to my father
for his heart & a good laugh.
the night before last i cut out
my magazine flesh for fingers
to hold your hand. the night before
last i cut myself into stanzas
so no one would run out of
breath. the night before last i
met myself like a wish i never
would have made, like a flower
made of cloth settled into your
curls, cropped close to the neck.
all wrongso i'll start the drinking into oblivion
after you leave because i'm more graceful
on my own, glassless, grass-fed,
godhead lonely & godless.
i'm more all right all alone where
i can't look at myself, from here
when you're far out, taking the bus back
home, which i wanted to be me
by the time i almost knew
i wasn't. if the bus hadn't come i could have
blamed my not so accidental wishes,
my back & forth desire, but you're already
gone. & no, it's not so terrible but right now
we're drunk & i'm fucking sad,
all right, i'm just sad
& with you & it happens at the same time
sometimes. i get sad & godless &
i sit down without a dream of getting up.
no, you're not awful & no
it isn't the worst but it just
feels pretty fucking bad
whatever you do don't stop breaking my hearti'm not ready to give in but
i can feel you breathing regret
& resignation. i can feel you
breathing underwater in
between our bodies. i can feel
you feeling less & less &
it feels more real
than drowning & it's worse
& it keeps getting worse
like knowing you
will die a slightly
different death every day.
last season's mix tapesin every story, there is a plot.
this is called “what happens.”
what happens is usually someone dies and someone rebuilds, someone buys a wedding ring and maybe she says yes.
what happens is we lose touch.
what happens is we stop at the laundromat, and i don’t know if i am inventing the men smoking cigars on the porch, or if it is really thursday. what happens is i am nine and you are a few years older and we are in the laundromat with three baskets full of clothes.
what happens is my parents are waiting in the car and we have quarters weighing down our pockets and we are grown up as we press coins into the slots on the washing machines. we giggle because we are the youngest occupants of the one large room lined with washers and dryers, and we giggle and we wait for the buzzers. we grow unsteady, confused, younger as we realise that we have been wrong. suddenly we are infants and we glance around the room and we feed more quarters into the
but you never got more than two verseseach way from the train i'm clutching at my throat,
i am a songbird with fingers trying to claw it out
of the way of the words i have locked, snuffed,
settled into me like marrow, perforating
the sparrow's heart until suddenly i am alone
& i straighten & hum & fumble through cobwebs
until my throat opens up on its own, the full bellow
of my soul my own bizarre surprise, hollowing
me in the cold, shivering from inside of my bones,
a deep deep i wish i had known existed, how the chill
thrilled the hairs up from my skin all over sobering
any stilling fill i felt, when i realise i am not
alone, & cough & it begins closing again, sick
& restless & empty in the way of mules.
love mute and beggingonce i kissed you so softly
i believed your face could
i believed your face
i believed & you begged
me to break it. i believed
you'd let your love grow
like toenails, the creeping ivy
unnotice that still strikes you
every once in a while, like
the shadow of my feet slowly
down your calves, like mold
& fungus, natural as dirt or
the marriage of green & blue,
easy & distant as a prayer
on the lips of the person who
misses you. for you the break
is clean & uninfected, unaffected
like the growth of your love,
neat & unafraid of death, & afraid
of cattails & toenails & their
desperate reaches, like the colour
of water could kill you quicker
than a breeze, like bits of you
you're not wearing are toxic.
let the earth hold its breath
a second & catch yours, & let
the waiting stop before you wait
out the dream, before the sideways
dying cast of the sun, before it rolls
out its tongue on another worm
frying on asphalt, still & natural,
fuller than the wolves' moon your
love, the notes of one las
leaving the nesti dreamed of
growing up a
from the oak
strong. where i
tried to feather
out my edges
i stayed firm
& full coarse.
where i tried
to love i lost
limbs & shed
skin. where i
tried to weep
over my own
roots, kept on
the impossibility of superduperveniencei love you. why not.
my thoughts hold each
other's clipped fingernails,
where i scoop my titles
from the river to wash them, where
as a woman in a fairy tale i can
get married in a pretty dress
& then die. you are the sort of
love of my life. sure. although
there is the little fact of your
six dormice. we will need one
more to make the number odd.
i love you, no reason. stop
pestering me about your poems;
i'll leave the sonnets up to you
since domesticity makes me itch.
this is the way i love you
so shut your mouth.
i'm not afraid of dying but i am
afraid of leaving you with our
dormouse family on your own.
i love you for now just because
i recently saw when harry met sally
for the first time because
my parents & their mortgages
because yellow clutches at
then i choked
i was thinking any of those islands
would have been enough
space for me
but we flew over not underneath
and the fucking light fell in an exclamation point
choking, holing up in the back
of my throat
with all that
my heavy space
like touching a photograph
from the mirror to the toilet
like something wrong,
like the sky, forbidden,
tonight it was purple out,
the city floundering, sitting wrapped
on top of itself like a huge octopus.
i kept washing my hands
it didn’t work
but i almost had it
the infidelhairs in my teeth
sticky skin stuck to my sticky shoulder
"what about him?"
i thought we discussed this already, a conversation of warm breaths.
"what about him?"
i just liked the way this sounded in my headmy breath was like dropping cold
keys on a colder kitchen counter. i was gray
with an a for a day when you went
a way. on your own you trumpeted
the clouds and sent for "Los Angelos"
as your mexicana abuela would say-a.
you asked me what
to do with my
mother's china set. throw it away. i said,
burn it. you did not
ask me about this.
kay. babe i loved you a long time
'life's about choices'
and i thought to myself
i have made the right ones.
tracing patterns in my
lever arch, anticipating
the rest of my life. i
thought to myself
i know what i'm doing.
but you were fifty-something
and i was fifteen.
and you said,
'life's about choices,'
and i agreed because
i'd never made any.
you are a lost cause.you are a lost cause.
i am a liar.
and we are a decrepit house
in the richest street,
of the richest city,
in the richest country.
i resent the fact that i'm lying to myself being in your vicinity.
the fact i have a different set of voices just for talking to you.
and the fact that to even look at you,
i have to at least
pretend i don't want to pretend anymore.
if i let itthe faults inside the webbings of our toes
makes sure that we are faceless as we are
juxtaposed to one another,
and that our hair
leaves curling patterns
on the bus-window fog.
let us leave this place as dim as we found it
footprints and cigarette butts will be the only evidence that we were here,
these dots of purple sand
and harlequin noise.
we press our fingers together
press our lips together
press ourselves together
hoping that these punch-drunk seams
will hold their own,
hold us together.
it doesn't work. we will split as
glue from cheaply bound books
will sink into rusting summers.
we will understand the needs our dolls had to disappear when we grew older,
or to chip their porcelain faces if they stayed.
i ask because i am hesitating on corners and edges,
perched between the fog and the other side of light.
i let myself be buried in wrappers. will not drown.
i will not drown because i've seen the girls who did
all gray-eyed and dialated so two a.m. would leave the sidewalk brigh
two separate thoughts: our children and our deathour kids
are going to look back at pictures
of us when they were babies.
when we were holding them
with wooden arms and silly eyes.
when we held the half-lings that
made the two of us into a single person,
for the first, or maybe second,
or maybe tenth time-
they're going to say, "god,
they look so young."
and they will be older than we were.
we will die with our hands knotted
together like the roots of the
we will die with wobbly knees
and eyes like grass, wet
with willow dew.
we will the both of us
die. each of us drawn
to the silent parts.
we kiss the ground
goodbye and we
in lieu of emptinessi have theories spinning webs
in the corners of my head
about the tricks,
with which i play to make myself
into something less clear,
a less recognisable wolf
in a girl's clothing.
the reflections i make
as i look in the still sea
the moon sweeps across the surface
and shines something brighter
and i feel softer,
instead of sleepwalking,
i am awake.
sometimes a nerve impulse
skips from skin to skin
until our mouths become
lost in wide apertures,
and sheets become rivers.
at this moment my arms unfurl
like vines, hands like leaves
and i open, a midnight blossom,
leaving the sickness and sadness
and falsity in the soil.
i become something of a trellis
for you as you grow-
feel shame for this.
you wheedle roots into steadier soil
and it holds the trembling lattice tight.
i am kept in place-
my legs become stable
in your earth.
the first poem i wrote since i told you i love youthe star-soaked stains
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;
it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.
your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
because any space
is space i don't want.
i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.
there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.
if i could, i would never get dressed
so that you could never be sad-
a rewind every time
my clothes touch the floor,
never anything but nude, not naked
because with you i can be bare
i can let you see my entirety
and leave my arms uncrossed,
i can let you in
and not fear that you will break me,
or force my inner things out.
i can love you with open arms
and my lip
aftermaththis morning my heart woke
me up to tell me you're taking
your piece with you when you go,
tugging at the distance as your
plane left the runway and i wrenched into
the darkness you left me for and i swore
i could see the stars falling down around me
the minute i said your name and it echoed,
my god, the syllables sunk deep into the pit
of my stomach and rested there like seeds,
watered by the nights i spent telling what was left
of me to forget all of you while my insides
tried to figure out how to be less, necessarily
it never worked. it never does when you
treat hearts like candy bars, like pieces
you deserve to break off & take with you
like the chocolate centre of my soul i gave
you, instead of my blown glass shattering,
the battery that keeps me thinking about
my live wires at the edges where you picked
up & left; you had me making signal fires -
everything went up in smoke and
i found myself on the edge of arson
where i want to burn everything
down at the site, where i want to b
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More