the Prometheus death fit for humankind, take it then take it and see how we are born, see how we’ll die.
Tag: dverse
I gather white flowers.
two mouths crawling the Medusa legs us pale girls virulence being told is our blood and bones.
After the end (Draft).
this would always be the self-suicide, generous with tragedy
see you, see me.
I see you I hoard your threaded- mulling-overs; playing me into junction, screaming, sighing screaming, sighing
Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss (after the sculpture in France).
psyche-reaped and kissed into a lushed womb where coiling into my lap, she lay
don’t leave in limbo (Draft).
variegated in singes; touches of her neck and wrist, contused in no promises, only the sprawl of remembrance gets darker
it was home to me (Draft).
with no thread of flowers to plant your feet on, and into morning air at a hotel room remembering that’s what home felt like.
Some demonstrations of sorrow (Draft).
I found a dead deer in the road at the same time my dad told me not to look;
Do not tell me what I was.
Do not tell me what I was to redraw that cold war face, to see a woman of what I bleed
the muse is dead.
as if I held her hand, full of regret. A weeping willow rejects me breathing in my cigarettes, death’s in the traveler being left alone in Italy; from the garden, all bodied, all that red and bleak
unhappiness.
I sit at her bedroom window an age where branches hung themselves Antigone.
as rain ends.
Neurochemical duress, the labor of my body aglows, destitution in mental illness; a fragmented waste of sperm
le mystère.
i only have sensibilities in sempiternal madness
Lamplight falls.
I had the same hope Sylvia Plath did, at one point, in her journal—she didn’t want to die.
Leave a note (first).
my heart in the oubliette
Leave me alone (Draft).
turn away cull the thoughts wanting to go home.
Solitude’s simplest explanation.
just not to feel anything beyond me in solitude’s Occam’s razor.
Dreamscape.
How fucked is that? She mused in her dreamscape.
Love’s song.
I pull her free into the garden
Every word you say.
my death resigned in her bedroom; a pharaoh’s whip on my heart, laughing
Pseudopsychosis. 