[x]

i'm still aliveanxiety is a dog whistle.
a hand on your knee
tastes like tin:
sharp bright lingering.
a survivor,
threatened
will begin preparations
for ten times their past.
in this way you can name shadows.
your body knows pretense
registers his walk
before you do.

close your ears

anxiety is a dog whistle
you are a dog

sonskyni entangle myself in the sky,
grasp and tug on breezes,
expect grass to be as thoughtless
as my skin.

i am complete, here,
amongst the feelings of stones,
as april folds me,
intricate, in its madness.

stainsi feel like cutting off something beautiful.
a patch of trillium,
grasp thick stems,
crush petals and leaves til they weep
dewy and full in my palm.
leave a patch,
the size of a man's fist,
the size of your fist,
the size of each fist that has torn
something out from my throat.　

unfocusedi am so imprecise a silhouette
that i waver in the midst
of swirling seas

i am so detached a soul
so unfocused and blinding
(a galaxy, loosened)
that i cloud and distort the senses,
stand between a body
and its needs

the garish outline of my necessity
grinds landscapes to a neat
unforgivable dust

shallow breathsthe sun comes down a little earlier around here
a hemisphere away and winter's setting in
but i stopped feeling the cold
a while ago

it used to sting, stickily fresh
but now the wound's healing
knitting together with paralyzing heat

with suffocating heat
just let me breathe

just
let me

i unzippered my chest the other day
let out the butterflies behind my ribcage
spilled sparrowsong from my wrists
good god, i'm finally free

you guys
are all
just
shallow believers

you guys are all
just

a sun heavyi leave my body vibrating
in the ground
in the thick vegetation clouding your body

the silent ticking
of digital clocks
slowly, gently cracks my vigilant skin

round
a sun heavy in a wet mouth

a reasonable silenceyour voice sounds like
jittering adrenaline
the whirring of construction across the street
the bright blue of the ocean
when seen only briefly
in dancing light

your voice sounds like three old men
arguing the same argument for the seven-hundred and thirty-first time
the twacking of a head of lettuce
against a brand-new counter-top
the core falling out
the reasonable silence after a storm
a bike kicking up a dusty road
emaciated children clutching a ball
a hat being turned backwards

your voice sounds like
the undoing of a marriage
a dying weed, the brief period of respite
between tantrums, the sizzling
of an excellent steak

Achromatic Dreamstoday, god gave me present.

-
i.

stilted windows, white bones
decaying lungs and my mind races
at the rate of a lone moth's jaded wings

we taste better alone

ii.

clemency is earned
by the damned, by the damned
arbitrary sacrifices

we belong to nobody

iii.

and she bowed with artless grace
kissed the sky, shed stardust tears
choked on angelic moonshine

we draw our own constellations
-

today, i gave god presence.

postcardwe must be gentle
especially with each other

the earth is growing
through our petty trinkets

and our shame is uncovered

+there is ink settled
in the curve of your chin,
graceful arms shadowed
on a wall when
you decided, hey, let's
dance to the music of
dawn birds. there is
a mourning in the way
your tongue slides over
the word "we"
and tastes it like coffee
with cream and no
sugar. i took your
kissed fingerprints
and gathered them,
placed so
like the direction matters;
your touch fairly
blinded the birds
sleeping in everyone's wrists
and they screamed
because there are
things too beautiful
for here. weighty pages
draw inspiration
from your voice and
write god in
english, russian,
and portugese
so normal
people can understand
ho

ConfluenceAccording to the old religion, a scribe
must bathe in natural running water
before she draws what is dictated to her,
because writing's just like cleaning a mirror,
she says, it's like rearranging stains
left on wholesome rivers. For three nights,
I drew geometric shapes in the margins;

I had been instructed to take notes on
the underside of snow, and how it colonized
the lithosphere, musically and without hurt.
It felt like a call, but it wasn't a calling.
The paper was made in Himalayan foothills
by a woman who had cleansed knots from fibrous bark
and dipped her bleached hands into boiling water.
I mangled the page into a cottage, then

space between cellsmy palms hold no water
yet i am
a sack filled with rivers
a sack in the river

the looseness
of solid flesh
is unsettling

angel's trumpeti am a lantern
carried by the moon-child
nameless and fae-like
across the richly textured
lake, textured with star shadows

i am soft as the wolf's belly,
as lightly-colored as the
easy breeze across a thick field

i rest in my own movement
in a lullaby of the earth's turn

Here in springIf fatigue could grind down
cosmic energy in the center
of the universe
and in your center

like you are
grinding nutmeg and cinnamon
onto your cappuccino,

stirring
the little cup of storm
with your bent spoon

and eating raw walnuts
with the poet
tumbling

out of the person
in sportive vapors,

this is
what has mesmerized you
to me: being wrapped up

entirely
by the silhouette of your
coming and going,

nurturing the pearl
you have broken off of
a universal necklace,

your button picked off
of the universal sweater
draped around my shoulders

when we tour the little towns
that stand over the Hudson
like haloed hallucinations.

I would h

but love hurts.sometimes there are such things as friends
who say they would rather rip their own heart out
than watch you rip out yours, and he kind of
believed that,

and he was looking at him right now, his hands
in the pockets of his jeans tied like knots, his eyes
open but closed slightly like he was struggling
to look at him, and he looks like he wants to tell him
everything, and probably does have an entire novel in his head,
but he only says, "stop."

stop.

but he tells him he wants to stop
but he can't, but god he wants to stop,
but he can't:

"sometimes, i lie in bed with nothing on but
an old pair of sweat pants and i can still
fee

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sanity's commercialisedthe expectation of sanity
as you emerge from a nine-month womb
is commercialised.
a waving sensation of breathing
overtakes instinct-driven lungs
and that is when your humanity begins to dissipate.

do your invisible friends get recycled
when you decide that society is more
important than imagination?

if we're all hiding something,
why hide?

-

people are entirely too polite
when you sing loudly in their inane
faces. sometimes expression
is the best way to get ignored.

-

stuffing cotton and paper
down your throat, does not,
in fact, shut down your emotions.

shrugging off your body,
in an attempt to be god-like,
even subcon

please choose a categoryon sundays i ask myself questions without question marks.
like: how did you figure out that i hum when i'm afraid.
like: why do my parents call themselves christians when my younger brothers sound racist at the dinner table without knowing the term.
like: how old is the term 'hipster', why do people name themselves after spit-upon-ground-up words, what is the number of swallows you could conceivably snap the necks of in an hour.
like: why
am i writing this.

do you remember talking about mental disorders and broken beer bottles on railroad tracks. do you remember wishing we were younger and then forgetting that in the haze of 'growing up

a selection of syllables10/4/11. malignant fists, whale-white nuzzle into the carpet- i trip often.

23/2/11. do not read of yourself. it will erode.

10/2/11. words slip through your sinuses rawly, fresh scabs sleeping, path-like.

7/2/11. i have been reading so much lately, waking feverish and slick under tossed blankets.

17/1/11. the author told you to name a drownless day.

13/1/11. plotless hummingbirds are bungling through the middle of (y)our stor(y)ies.

6/1/11. the grainy film wraps clever social commentary into a neat package, to be delivered to the red door on pine street.

2/1/11. i'm sort of tired of your eyes darling, tired of your hands and the way y

.i.
on the sidewalk,
she told me i was beautiful,
and that she
cut her hair in
the bathroom
with rusty shears,
chestnut flipping
down the
sink.

i took her for sorbet,
orange cream,
chocolate
chips melting
slowly onto a vinyl
seat.
the cd skipped
twice in the
same song,
while knuckles
rapped the beat
of summer
afternoons, tire
swings,
hot rubber.

i told her
about my grandmother,
who isn't
actually
my grandmother.
well, legally,
of course,
but she's never
felt like my grandmother.

and then we laughed over how many
times i said mother and grand
in the same breath.

ii.
it was late,
maybe
two am, three,

arrowhead mountain spring watei was going to write a piece using the word we entirely too often. talk about the slip of your palms down my cheeks, the floaty high after you don't sleep for forty-eight hours and then skip gallantly through the albertson's parking lot. i was going to write this immense prose with weaving metaphors and phrases that begged to be spoken. a piece with a moral, about a boy and a girl, or maybe two girls, or an animal and the voice that haunts it. about a willow bride with gauze wrapped firmly around a puncture wound. describe the inner monologue of a park bench. but maybe not, because that would be deleted.

i could write you a letter, because y

shinglesa house in your palm, roof and glass windows taken to a microscopic level
and destroyed in the name of philosophical reason.

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by ~orangecloudsraining, Sep 19, 2012, 12:48:09 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

we kiss each other's palms like diamonds
like rising suns
collapsed naked in the folds
of our bodies, in the creases
of your joints i lie
barely coherent in my form

_by ~orangecloudsraining

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

hmmm.

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~Flummoxative Mar 20, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This made me catch my breath.

~orangecloudsraining Mar 20, 2013 Student Writer

~rider-on-the-storm Sep 21, 2012

this is incredible, the picture you've put into my head.
i like the way you write, mmhmmm

~orangecloudsraining Sep 21, 2012 Student Writer

thank you very much!

~rider-on-the-storm Sep 23, 2012

thank you! haha keep them coming and allow me to read and comment to my little hearts desire

~orangecloudsraining Sep 25, 2012 Student Writer

i'll try.

*toxic-nebulae Sep 20, 2012 Student Writer

that last line is amazing

~orangecloudsraining Sep 21, 2012 Student Writer

~blukitty-chan Sep 19, 2012

This is just beautiful!! I love it

~orangecloudsraining Sep 19, 2012 Student Writer

thank you very much.

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