Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back 1. I say nothing I am thinking.
For twelve years I have wanted
to do exactly this, but suddenly
pronouncing my own name calls up
the question of who it belongs to
in the same breath Like
Solomon I was born a singer
but in the wrong key and my
chords will not carry me, will not
summon the wolves to me only
packs of hungry dogs
stupid with domestication
but nearly feral And like
a hungry ghost I have learned
not to speak against those
who will give me food
2. A sketch of myself.
He says I must have been born
in the wrong culture, he says. I got a taste of
the crackling heat here, heat to drive you crazy,
and suddenly I open my wide arms for
New Orleans, find myself needing the wind from
the Great Plains. Like a buffalo I have the spirit
of the Sun and I carry it with me. I am a plant
of burnt umber,
brown, ready and waiting like
sage bushes, like the hill you go to that is best
for collecting jun
Totems and Godhoodi. As a child, confronting giants.
I take the pine tree as my totem,
learn to love the nakedness of its nether-regions
and its northerly fibers stretched and waiting
for the weft to its warp.
Girlhood is still a part of me as the
learning what I am. In the end,
I haven't climbed a tree in a long time;
I am small, and scared, and ringed round with walls,
and I beg the moon to teach me
to use my pine trees as a ladder.
ii. In the way only young love can.
you are pine chips, and I carry you
like a fetish in my mind.
You are the first vampiric sweetness
to suck the breath from my body:
unknowing, the feeling of yearning;
I am fibrouscelery stalk,
pale and clutching my thread self together.
Watch as I petrify,
stretch until my bones
will not bend to let me drink.
With age I become a god,
brittle-boned and cackling; with age
the osteoporosis will leech my fibers dry
and my pine sap blood will freeze in my chest
to keep me warm in winter.
Spirography and the Gift of PyrokenesisAlready I feel stiffened,
wrapped-round with my wedding-bangles
a horror amidst spirographs,
the ballpoint-pen circles that have transcended themselves
into curling picture frames or paper cages.
In my gown I have become a pillar;
I have not tasted curried air,
but already a river will still my tastebuds,
the mirror into which I shall be sunk, prow-like,
with the ship,
and the curling pen-lines
that drift in my eyes prepare the currents
that will wash over me and make of me nothing.
Shiva I would rather be
if I could I would pour my flaming heart
over my ashen and lace body,
leave its embers in the grass like seeds;
I would go up in smoke, no Helen for Troy,
only gasps making their own way for Calcutta.
Traffic Signalsthe sirens had become a nighttime lullaby
and the streetlights had become a part of the darkness
my sheets are full of post-it notes that stick to my skin in the morning
some days i'll wake up and realize i have his third new phone number stuck to my forehead
like i was thinking about him all night
pondering his sheets which used to be filled with cheerio crumbs and empty pop cans
when i was younger i used to listen to the cars drive by under my window
dream up stories of where they were going late at night
and follow their taillights until they drove around the corner
now everything is a blur and the only light i see is the blinking traffic light
stop-go-slow down girl
a prophetess of constant wisdom like my mother
saying don't listen to those neon-lit-tattoo-parlor kids who slide down the street a bit too smoothly and don't bother following traffic signals
even if he says he loves you it doesn't stop him from slipping out of your post-it note sheets in the early fingers of morning, g
Concerning My Strange Affinity for Scorching Heat(i used to be wild highway dandelions
sometimes i miss the sky stretching as far as the interstate)
pancake flat horizon
the sunset's fingers
palm to palm with the black dirt
the soccer field dust
stuck to my teeth
the mud pit season
wiping war paint beneath our eyes
(i used to be the bluebonnet smell of springtime
sometimes i miss chewing on onion grass and speaking shapes into the clouds)
and scorching concrete
tire swing imprints
and the slow slow
all tangled up in vowels
something in my heart is right
when the ground cracks like chapped lips in summer
and winter was just when we sang christmas songs
(i used to be the black texas ground
sometimes i miss crunching yellow grass parted only by wood fences)
the coyote's midnight call
trains rattling my windows
cricket thermometer in the corner
(chirp-chirp-chirp getting faster/growing louder)
a country station burning a hole in my heart
maybe it's a gas leak
DormantWinter is a blank slate,
but not like Rousseau's
sucking out warmth like poison
leaving only windburnt frost
tacked to the window pane
all we remember
is the numbness
skittish steps across the ice
snowflakes pasted to our faces
smoke rising from our lips
dragged across bleak clouds
winter has us captured
bound by fur and walls
drifting in our eggshelled silence
bone cold until we birth ourselves by warmth
emerge from our shells wet and heaving
uncurl our fingers one by one
joints crackling like fire at our backs
until spring comes
drip by tender drip
old wounds thaw
we are found raw,
graced again by feeling.
BottlesOpening closed doors
and ripping out the souls that lay behind
is not how you help people
When we were young
you told me
"You can't bottle things up, you have to let it out."
But I didn't listen
I filled bottle after bottle
all shapes and sizes
filed and packed away
for a day that I hoped
would never come
They were in there for a reason,
And you decided
that you had the right
to break them all open
to see the things that lay dormant inside
one by one
you came in and shattered them
all at once
lay at your feet while we both stare at each other
panting, waiting for the other to say the inevitable
It was not just the glass that was broken
It was me who was scattered on the floor
waiting to be stepped on
cutting open whoever was unfortunate enough to be there
Before either of us could speak
I collapsed into a pathetic, crying heap on the floor
not caring that the sharp edges were cutting into me
Then you were there
Bring Them to Their KneesHer body is a cavern
wishing to be filled with happy memories and warm smiles
instead she is hollow
Everything inside scooped out with tight hands
gripping and grabbing
pulling out her innocence
throwing away the young hopes
replacing it with self-loathing
She walks seductively by
covering up all her insecurities with tight clothes
and the perfect amount of make-up
Hiding her fear within swaying hips
giving out lustful looks
bringing whomever she wished to their knees
She didn't need anyone
she didn't want any help
that's what she told herself
She had control
power over them
had them begging for her
Not the begging like she did all those years ago
screaming into pavement that gave away nothing
tears falling on to the hands clinging to her neck
There was no need to think about that anymore
there are too many men to conquer
too many hearts to break
Why remember when you can forget
in the same exact way
Escape WishMy escape waits for me faithfully
As the days slip away lazily,
Waiting silently, it sits all alone,
Unmoving. Quietly, it lets out a moan,
Calling my fingers-
The companion it craves,
Someone who lingers,
Who sits down for days at a time.
Gliding playfully across the keys,
Dancing gracefully, bending at its knees.
And colorless stripes form songs with a touch,
Spending entire nights and watching
Them pass in a rush.
I'm now lost in the music
Coming from this.
I love to use it- my escape wish.
Oxygen ThiefBorrowing your breath
To exhale myself-
A reaction to your lack of air.
I'm an oxygen thief,
Stealing the mist
From cold lips on a winter's day,
Reflecting the echo released
By a tired train,
Puffing black smoke.
I killed the doves you set free,
Silenced the bells you let ring,
Ripped up the letter
You let fly in the breeze.
Yet I still don't call
This stealing a sin.
And when you're all worn out,
I'm the crook that reminds you
Of when you could breathe...
Then I killed you with carbon dioxide.
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All the Right ChordsBeauty is often a difficult thing to find.
We may scour and scour the world,
Our minds and hearts
And never find it.
Beauty is a funny thing, though...
A fourteen year old boy
Sits in his living room
Strumming on his old guitar
Just trying to get all the chords right.
He ponders a future
Bigger than anything he has ever witnessed.
But he knows it exists somewhere.
Rock and roll tickles his fancy
As he attempts to stumble through adolescence.
Yes, he is plagued by many misfortunes.
But with "a little help from his friends,"
He stands victorious.
He knows no boundaries.
He holds the world by its throat,
Together, apart, up, down,
He leaves his heart
As "an open book."
He will never back down
For he is blessed.
Platinum warriors fend for him
During all of his battles
As they remind him of his goal.
He realizes it
And begins to venture into the unknown.
With uncertainty alive
In the world and his eyes,
Into a world unknown
Yet ever so beautiful..
Not Enough Money for StampsI want to know, I want to know
When you feel something
Why don't you let it show?
I'm sick of standing around
And watching the time fly by.
When I see your face around this old town
It makes me want to hang my head and cry.
You've got thousands of dollars
Enough for fancy hotels and fun.
But you don't have enough for the stamps
To write back home to anyone.
You say we've got a future
But God, I don't see.
It seems to me you're just out
To make a fool of me.
You say we've got to hold on:
That a tomorrow means a yesterday.
But no matter what you mean,
That won't better today.
You'll continue your tangents
You'll keep making yourself look sly.
Keep making yourself look good;
It's silly enough to make me sigh.
You want to face your bright tomorrow
But you haven't got past today.
Loving you has gotten so hard
And I don't think that I can stay.
I want to know, I want to know
Will you love me, too?
I'm sick of being the only one
In love with me and you.
The Girl in the BathroomThe girl in the bathroom
Just asked me if I'm having fun.
I swear to God,
It took all I had
To muster a smile and respond with a slight
The girl in the bathroom
Looks mighty fine tonight.
Her smile seems to fill the room
And tell me everything is all right.
Though it's not.
I took a trip to the bathroom
To sit on the floor
In a floor length dress
And let my tears flow.
Is there something wrong with that?
I don't think so.
The girl in the bathroom
Just told me my dress is pretty.
I tell her thanks,
Though I know she said it out of pity.
Girl in the bathroom...
Do you think it strange
For a girl to let herself feel
The overwhelming pain
Do you have a problem with that?
I did not ask the girl in the bathroom that.
Instead, I said,
"Have a great dance..."
And I walked back out
Into a world of phonies and fakes.
Into a world of princesses
While I was the single truth.
The girl in the bathroom saw me cry.
Changing StridesIt has been so long since I last had you, my love.
I was waiting for some time, do you know that?
For a while all I did was stare at the screen,
waiting for you.
Though I have gotten busy.
The stories come off me in waves,
the games that they play as they come to the shore,
it was so appealing,
I couldn't help myself,
I need something.
Even now as I try to bring you back they call to me,
the characters bleeding into my fingers as I develop,
It has been so long my love.
Can I really bring you back?
Second PlaceWhat if I'm just not good enough?
It's... my world.
There is nothing else but that,
my fingers on the page,
stained with ink,
eraser marks etched into my palms,
trying to keep the beast from hatching.
Dancing on the edge of the past,
enough strength to be in the present;
am I strong enough for the future?
all the time,
every chance I get when it breaks,
the torturing screaming inside that can't escape.
They haunt me,
the images behind my eyelids,
fiery and sickening.
Passion is striking,
lightning with the pen,
scratches and blotches of mistakes,
keep it together.
Stay away from them,
Don't leave, please?
Thread of gold, white; silver.
Stained with red,
little liquid beads that descend,
fabric weaving of blood.
Am I good enough?
HeartBrokenThe crack resignates in my mind as you drive away,
the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of your beat up truck.
It's painted red.
My blood's red as it drips down my arm,
forming a puddle at my feet and staining the dust and rocks.
You couldn't take it.
I was too damaged,
My life was too full of emotion.
You were everywhere,
in every aspect of my life,
threaded into the fabric in a way that I can't comprehend anymore.
Where did you go?
Driving away on the gravel you don't look back,
though I'm standing right here,
waiting for that final wave goodbye.
dripping and pooling on the ground.
Some of it touches my sneaker and I laugh,
a high pitched and gruesome sound.
You're still leaving.
I'm still bleeding.
Look what you've done.
Forget their taste anytime...Forget their taste anytime soon
The angel enters the other angel's shrine bowing, its halo a faint autumn purple.
"Do you have a name?" it asks the other one sitting beside a window. "I mean, right now."
"I don't. I don't need one right now. Do you?" the other one replies, not turning towards the door. Then it adds "You are welcome."
"Thank you. As for the name, yes I do have one. I was asked to pass it on to you, after making sure you don't have one already."
"I had quite a few recently. None now," nods the one still sitting. "Do speak it to me then."
The one in the door moves in, crossing the small, bright room. It casts shadows, and there's a loose feather trailing a circle slowly behind it in the air. It is a black feather, tinted purplish by the autumn halo. When the angel reaches the other one, it leans to it and whispers something in its left ear.
"No," the sitting one says, not a shadow crossing its pure face. "I cannot bear that name now. I am too light for the task it
thank you all for participating if you don't see yourself and your friends in this issue, you will surely be in the next one feel free to note me with more recommendations for the next features, let's keep up the community spirit of dA the more, the merrier have a great week ahead one and all
To friends old and new and to strangers too I would like to wish the most beautiful and cheerful holidays; have fun, hug lots of people, eat too much food, adopt a reindeer do whatever makes you happy I love you all so much, you're incredible people, talented, friendly, supportive, wonderful guys&girls