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dreaming of prehistoryIn a better time for mental illness,
I would be prophet: hallucinations
of some grand design, my delusions
taken as gospel. Perhaps painting caves
deep in the belly of the hollow earth.
Dip brushes in oxide, draw wild horses,
lit by seal fat and the viscous shining
of psychosis-fever eyes.
Instead I am on unspoken suicide watch,
concerned members of the community tracking
the time of the latch on my door. Gently
knocking when they worry that I have plunged
too deep in cerebrum, broiling in dark thoughts.
I am dosed, diagnosed, therapeutically coaxed
like a bonsai tree: obedient shell, mute
and mutable, former self annihilated
for the sake of fitting in.
At Catalhoyuk, deformed bodies were held sacred,
given special rites. The curve of my spine
is only illness, they tell me clinically.
I dream of gilded shrouds, thick red ochre
dusted across my stiff-board body. Demigod
of disability, shaman of silent sickness:
forehead too high, my mind too corrupted
to seek Neolithic splendor.
ApoplepsyI dream rat poison tea
[soothe my sick throat],
and the slip-slip-whack of falling body
thwarted by the thrust of gravity.
Sick child, invalid, red-carded out of life
apologetically excused out of existence,
left to rot in bedroom bunker.
Escorted to the end by memories.
Tremble-sick and haunted.
Phantom pain, poltergeist muscles.
Tremble-sick and dead.
I am not enoughThe hero vanquished:
sea glass scooped up,
tornado ripe for my killing -
When in doubt, there is always
something topical to say. Tilt
your head and murmur affirmatives
until the voices stop - the silence
swoops in again. Suck cock, think not
of diseases. There are no consequences
for self-contained failings.
A body not ravaged by psychic guilt,
mind fresh and unwinded by metaphorical
thought. There is not enough perfection
to keep interests affixed. I sink, gnash teeth,
create chaos to cull quiet. Inculcating hatred
from everyone I meet. Leave now - read poetry
I wrote for other people. Know soon enough
it will be about you.
Defeated, bite down, walk the stairs,
I forget my name. Not enough, not enough,
skulk away, hide in miasma, ectoplasmosis,
Parka PersonEvery day is cold now.
Once there were tropics in me;
blinding sun, warm humidity
nourishing ferns, orchids.
A parrot sang my praises
and I fell asleep enveloped
in the nocturne hymn of flowers.
But yet I am wan, drained of color,
ice shards spiking my brain, sludgy
and slow to think, words slurred,
uncomfortable to look at,
more uncomfortable to be.
Somewhere along the way
I tilted my latitude,
heart packed up in plastic
for the journey, and dove
straight into arctic love.
PhotographsYou remind me of my father's father,
the one I never claimed as mine;
empty accent drained of location,
filling stiff silences with requests
for lemonade. Bland hands overworked
in the insides of machines, etiquette
that overwhelms any intimate connection.
[I want always to be touched, reminded
that I am human and existent, scouring
hands searching breasts and thighs
for scant evidence of perfection.
(Don't bother, you won't find any.)
I am a commodity, to be enjoyed
and destroyed at will. Use me
or lose me.]
Perhaps it is my tendency to seek
old faces in new eyes, comparing
each new acquaintance against
the vile biters that came before.
My type is the annihilator,
inoculating me against feeling.
The ones that push my sore spots
until I no longer sense the pain.
I need to stop searching for Jake
in you, and simply close my eyes.
outgrowing gillssea-cradled urchin
child has a salty heart yearnin'
for a glimpse of mother moon
tiny spiked wunderkind
punk, studded belt
you know life's answers well
shuffling through the seaweed-less halls
missing the ocean swell
tidal waves foaming at the mouth
everyone is laughing now
at the boy born on a boat one sunny afternoon
cause mama loved the sea like lovers love the sheets
landlocked kid is homesick and
sea sure, he's searching for the sea shore
life's a blur for Davy Jones at his locker
capsized by sea-legs on solid ground, he finds his seizures
and he hates his earth mother
he hates her
for falling for the ocean and
how he's rocked by the moon
how he's mesmerized by her glow
her pull on his sea-conceived cells
he hates her too
for the puking in the stalls
for the ridicule
leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.
some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.
but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.
youi dug him out of my ribcage &
drowned in bleach and flames
to rid myself of
the dreaded devil's hat
that seeped from my pores
this wasn't about him.
this was about erasing the blemishes
and making my own
but you said my new freckles
spelled out your name with
across my shoulders
and i began to question
how you would sound
around such a shoulder
i have only ever been the gasping
not the gasped
writer's blockstranded on an island scantily
dressed in moonlight, you stare
at roiling water resembling a
horizon of interweaving words
but when you lift your right hand,
spirals of silence shackle
the weightless sounds
she breathed out happy endingsshe pressed herself between the pages of her favorite storybook
until her veins began to bleed ink. with her head in the clouds,
she wasn't sure of where she was and didn't much care as long as
it wasn't here.
i miss the girl i almost wasi miss the girl i almost was
she sits lightly on the edge of the bed
at 4am and brushes my hair back from my
face with a touch like spiders' footsteps
her breath is like ice and
her wishes are weightless
she wraps a strand of promises around
her fingers and kisses me goodbye again
with lips like polished crystal
she waits for me at crossroads
she is always cold
Heavy Love IIjust
just lay down,
put soft hands
on the space
and i'll pretend i'm Leosome days i think you wonder
like i do
the way i thumb my earlobe when i hope that you're not looking
the taste behind my teeth. in
gemini circles, i'd think us a malformed constellation;
being dust specks, i exist as naught but to black hole your world
into other closeness
sometimes i think you're wrong. i can write these words, can i?
i can write them 'cause you never look, you are heavy on me, you are pressed to my hip
and you don't know that I'm writing about you
you will miss the point
i think there was a time when you never tried to cover up my voice with other songs.
a box of quartz plucked from the driveway,
i look at it from time to time.
you sway like you're sailing to china
there are things i can't un-touch and things you'll never understand, the
care and feeding of turtles and why i always
burn of fever, the sickness churns my stomach, your sickness burns my
In point, counterpoint. we'll never forget
what day you shot my eardrums out, or the
astronomerswhen we're together
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.
we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers creator and destroyer
so close to your lips.
LossKneel. Lick the salt. Pray.
There is a hole here, I say,
pressing to my breastbone.
No doctor can diagnose it.
There is no test to check
how deep you've been ingrained
in my woodwork, pumping muscles
and spitting valves.
And no scalpel can erase this.
The emptiness of unfriendship.
Cold eyes glinting black
where once they glimmered.
This is a flimsy half-light
coming from my cigarette.
Nothing good will come for years.
Kneel. Lick the salt. Pray.
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