[x]

Reversed Singularity? but of time, i do digress
& my intentions have been writ
in sumerian, and dreamt; but

here to live obsolete:
swift swing, precarious pang
with my heart's guiltless intention
--fingernails scratch & fit

your name; tasting still
succulence, feeling still
tyranny of will, being still
drowned cortex-deep, hearing still

--the wisp of a faltered laughter
sheltered & swaying & playing

amongst the dead, the horned
honoured and torn, formed
long and forlorn'd--

oh time, my bittersweet demise
dying is no longer a sacred art
and is sincerity in its purest form
cloaked with fault & artless bourne

earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:

I.
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
And yet,
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
[with me]
He'd light up the universe.

II.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
screaming
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy

Across the Sea and Around the KotatsuSpring

Taco Rice

Mom starts with rice. Japanese rice, one, two, three Japanese cup-fulls of rice grains into the cooker, because Sis eats a lot of this stuff. It's one of her favorite dishes, taco rice, and Mom's always happy to make it for her because it's the only way Sis will eat her tomatoes. But back to the rice. "You want to rinse at least three or four times, until the water's kind of clear," Mom says as she cups her hand under the cooker pot, letting the cloudy water wash over her hand.

Rice cooking's easy though – just fill enough water to the point the rice's covered, punch in a time (or set it to "Quick Cook," which with our cre

ISLNDSyou like the way
the i slants,
an error's
guidance
in a sea
of hyphens.

sans-serif
in cropped crests
made to full-
stop breasts
beating;
an obsess-
ion breathing
in lost chests.

now a motive
is seething
with options;
play thief
and proceed greedily,
often.

dive deep
and drink
the leap's froth;
breath is only
as sweet as the
speech that breeds thought.

SomedayJane and Ellis floated parallel to one another across the vast canvas of space, eyeing the marble-like planets that slowly crept past them. Their skin reflected the starlight with a dull orange sheen. Ellis had called it 'planet gazing,' an activity he apparently thought suitable for a date.

"Do you see that one below us?" Ellis said, pointing to a round blue mass.

Jane shrugged.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked. "I'll bet it's beautiful on the surface, too. Like the way the dust begins to spiral when a star is forming."

"Something like that," Jane said. She didn't understand his excitement. Planets were nothing interesting. They were just

Car tout finit un jour... - Because everything... (English version below)

Car tout finit un jour...

Dans tes yeux noirs où se perdent les ombres,
Immergés de spleen et d'ouragans sombres,
Assassine étoile en proie aux vingt ans,
N'oublie ta joie, ton courage d'antan.

Ah que le temps vienne où les fleurs s'égrainent !
Nos rires sous les toits bleus, nos fredaines
Oubliées, resteront à jamais les
Germes d'un été, mort abandonné.

Une lettre commencée, une plume
Egarée. Car dès lors de cette plume
Il faut tirer un trait, comme à l'enclume
Retirer l'épée. Des maux que j'exhume,

Aie confiance en eux

bedIt's a stabbing sight
Letting in the morning with a crack of the shades
And you forget you could page-turn horizons
Waft through free territory
Where acres are just beds
Made of fresh land

Wrinkles in the river
Tell remembered times
About old languages that could make you cry
About soft beds that carve away canyons
A speaking voice lifted from the earth
Begging you to remember

if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the

Survival of the IllestAre those hints of lemon I detect?
Look, I'm just here to get wasted, don't try
to make it more than that.

I'd drink motor oil if I thought
it could get me high; chase it with a shot
of antifreeze
so
you can keep your survival instincts,
locked up
in that pretty velvet box (along with all
those other things
you thought you could convince yourself
you lived for). Instincts are the bare
bones of the impossibilities we wanted
to believe in,
remember,
those times you tried to tell me that
adrenaline was God's way
of saying
that
we were His chosen ones, we were
special, we were free.
I tried to tell you that instincts an

hindsightAt one time, we followed
the fires of July like fools in love
with heat smothered on our raw anatomy--
but fall has wrought our kindling into cinders,
carried it away on the earth's currents and sighs.

Here we see the girls with pressed skirts and
polished Mary Janes catch drifts of oak leaves,
pale-downed arms reaching for the bleached clouds
of late September,

and when the boys with all their chivalry abandoned
come searching for pig tails and rounded thighs,
we watch the snow eat an old world
from our separate park benches.
Cigarettes lay crumpled on the ground,
dead soldiers from our last war.

But when I open my eyes again,

IfWe can
draw lines and give them names
like elements
as they are discovered

Or etch into our skins
this soloecal desire
until it is impossible to tell
where words stop
and life begins.

I would

Find a common rhythm that includes
you in my arms, my hands
and lungs and thoughts
tracing the outline of you
entangled with me
colliding like two lost particles
locked in a shared gravity
drifting through the vacuum
of space.

I could.

Exhale, and
remember
sentence structure.

Imitating NatureThe morning sun streamed through a series of large plate glass windows lining the library's east wall, its rays warming the room's wooden paneling and illuminating the cavernous space. Tall bookshelves stuffed with literature from across the world towered over polished oak reading tables, each furnished with a plain, green-shaded banker's lamp. On the far side, a massive painting gracing the west wall depicted the solemn face of Saint Patrick, whose protective presence could be felt watching over the library's sole visitor.

All was perfectly quiet, save for a tap, tap, tapping that echoed in the otherwise silent room. Seated at a desk near t

PressureSomething broke.

A hard CRACK while sitting in
a soft chair. No pain registered.
The absence of it
is like watching explosions in space.

You follow the curve of your skull. You remember
how skulls are formed like tectonic plates.
Your head wants to be a planet,
volcanic, living, in change.

You continue to your left shoulder,
the one with all the problems.
But today, it has nothing to say.

Your rib cage moves
like oceanic waves, expecting a storm
that hasn't come.

You stand up,
homo erectus,
you consider your legs,
homo sapiens,
nothing feels wrong,
homo stabilis.

But you can break
more than your body.

WanderlustI've been sleeping with my jeans on
and seatbelt unbuckled,
So I can leave early
before my regret wakes.

In the check-in, on the road,
I distract myself
Walk, go, leave
go further, leave again
I like my life
Oversimplified.

I never meant to break your
working-class heart
(steady and warm)
But truer ways of joy I found
on the road,
in long railways and stranger tongues
And I'm sorry that we never
Quite catch up with each other.

I never loved goodbyes,
but I love leaving all behind
In the movement I found tranquility,
easing for this burn.

Don't think I'll be able
To ever forget you, no

You're like Venus in th

don't get tired of elephants yetI've had my crippling moments.
They'd either start in my stomach
with an ache like broken glass
or stab me right in the catharsis,
somewhere near my heart or breath
or maybe my left foot.

I wouldn't know how it feels
to hurt to walk, but I imagine
with a destination like farther,
it's no pilgrimage.
So take the burden off your back.
Life is not a sandstorm
and your lungs are only a mirage
if you expect to see your breath
every time you breathe.
So take a breath

back, just one step

and listen with your smoke signals.
Help is on the way.
I just can't promise
it knows much about this lifetime.
It's the same way I could never promise
elephan

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For Daphney.In wake-like sleep we pick
moments, like flowers, out of time
as welcome sickness
creeps around
our 8-year coddled minds.
Love is lugubrious and unconcerned,
and i fancy myself much different
and much the same,
so i grew to find that
i have grown with you.
And though the air we breathe
is of contrasting hues,
you are me and i, you.
Beauty is the moon,
and the night is as eternal as autumn,
so join me on
streets too dark to care
how much i love you,
and only then
may we respire in collective hearts.

Sexual Identity.He told me i've got that finesse,
the kind you can't put your finger on or
take your eyes off of, said he loves the way
i carry myself: all before he laid me down
and undressed me.
And suddenly lingerie feels like burial shrouds,
wrapped so tightly as to keep me in one piece; and now
we've got that time-bomb anticipation,
that too-fragile-to-touch pretense of adoration,
the one that screams "I know I'm here, but I really shouldn't be! Please
read between the lines," as my fingers
fumbled with the zipper on maturity.
i must have mistaken physicality for confidence again,
or perhaps knowingly interchanged them
because it lo

The Wrong Side.When he looks at me i can see words brimming in his eyes,
burning in his mouth and begging his tongue to let them out:
love is patient, love is kind.
Every single glance reminds me that
i am the pulse he beats beneath his lips
in adoration softened kisses winding in his mind.
i am the warmth he feels when his skin is blinded
by orchid sunlight breaking sleepless nights.
i am the response to love-induced cadences
curled within the swell of his chest,
i am the reason he stays awake until 4 am,
because he knows there's a chance that i might possibly need a friend;
he knows how scary those lingering nights can get
when my head rages

Photo Album.i'm struggling in a sea of yellowing memories,
photographs of happiness unruffled by the summer breeze,
sun-squints, smiles that never freeze
under six feet of dirt
and the fated loneliness and hurt
that accompany the understanding
that a generation of family
has all but forgotten us
completely.
For a split-second i almost see the same gleam
of emptiness in some relative's eyes, the
beginning of a hereditary heaviness, a disease
passed so lovingly down to me
so i may see my veins as dotted lines screaming "cut me!",
so i may taste the same hollowness in each breath i breathe
for eternity.
The thought is the ache of nausea

Love Poem No. 137Falling stars burn holes in the seams of my dreams,
i come unraveled at the scenes which always seem to be
hardening symphonies frequently left incomplete,
finally coming to me in a twice-induced sleep.

Upon waking, an encouraging itch to take you in,
inch by inch, pleasing reason's corruptible twin,
swallows me, follows me in vulnerability
to a place unseen by all but susceptibility and
me.

i am drawn to your disgust, your distrust,
to whatever you call your perception of us.
Tell me, who would you like me to be?
i'm just dying to see myself through your eyes.

i am life-sized and you're the size of the moonrise.
You're captured

Suicide Note.i'd said i'd never felt this way before,
and surely it was true, for this was more
than just another tangle of limbs,
another string of guiltless sins,
another fling done more for the story than the scar,
another barstool idea born of loneliness and starry-
eyed convictions of how pansexual we all really are:
more than my past escapades, by far.
And though the words felt like tar
thickening my mouth
and sounded more like something from the south,
accompanied by a steel-stringed guitar
than statements wading through my doubt,
from my heart and to my mouth,
i found
they tumbled out like shards
of lost hope,
discarded
with

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The Art of Consent: Burlesque

by ~AntoinetteGiulia, Oct 4, 2012, 7:00:49 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Urban & Spoken Word

However,
i can use the rounded corners of
sullen eyes, too-short fingernails,
magnanimous hips, and frosted lips
pressed crackling against the
porcelain dream he
so blackly freed against me.
i am four inches envy and
six inches will,
and completely engrossed in pursuit of
fulfillment.
And he, still violent and violet, is there,
unconvinced and scared, and so perfectly
mine.
He finds me tied, vaudevillian, to his
percussive heartbeat,
falling from mind to mouth,
from mouth to spine.
Where contact confuses
sexually transmitted attention for
sexually transmitted affection,
there is not time to obscure the view that
condemns him to what is malign
and otherwise known as misunderstood.
And i felt his eyes eating up where i stood,
felt my heart burning up what it could,
dropped a flatline to
pick him off my hemline, and understood
what it meant to be in control.
i love the heady derision provoked
simply by the act of undressing, no smoke,
except for that of the opiate crowd and
no mirrors, except for those in which he drowns
the ashes of his idle and fogbound throat.
i am fascination's captive,
hoping for an audience with
half of my vices;
he is determined by tea leaves
in the stem of my crystal,
stemming and distally placed from me.
Yet we are swimming in dissonant distance,
a lifetime and an instant away from morality.