I created a soundtrack for the most brutal scene yet in the ongoing Identify novel collaboration.
like abandoned memories, recalled by my mother
like when my grandfather said
“I’m going to kill you” while counting money
Through the smokestacks
there is the death of me
as I pass the hills.
I sit at her bedroom window
an age where branches hung themselves Antigone.
I’m very happy to say that my poem, “Hid too well” has been published in Edge of Humanity.
The humble words of the wise
“Death is a prerequisite to life
“it will always arrive and once it does…”
Originally posted on mtaggartwriter:
and also the men who are too large, walking. hurting, toward the storeand the women who…
in her bedroom on the thorns/
“You’re the first of your kind—”
I’m very excited to announce that my poem, “My child”, has been published at MasticadoresUSA.
and I laugh at death
till I hear it laughing too
There there, society will not forgive you
it will haul you over coals
put you in its iron maiden
who suffocates your imagination
Almost twenty and I thought I found some white in my hair
My main character, Oktavia, had an arc of redemption but losing her pet dragon, Lincoln, was the original idea for me to have her descent into the pith and despair of madness (we all love a good anti-hero).
I should kill her seed
From solidarity and desire, the trace of winter’s end,
Will I always remember that? I see people
Scowled on their prophecies, and dreams from before
Are never nearly settled in the impression of first want—
With these rhythmic ghosts upon red petals, and in the distance
The beauty of the dew—vanishing in deeper silence—
Terrifying their own voices nightmarish with unease
Who clear away the bodies, tie the flags low, remember
who exchange your smile for piles of shit-brown guile
Be sure to subscribe to My Valiant Soul if you haven’t already, and I’m proud my work appears in the newsletter by such a wonderful and talented poetess.
for our dead poet minds
and the dead-child flowers
that were weeds
I expect you like fragments
entirety of your being; autumn spurred
and trees mocking