[x]

MonologueSpinal fluid seems to be seeping between the cracks
Of the dark hardwood floors beneath me
As if all the cartilage from my being
Has been used to paste together an arthropod heart
I’ve white washed my pupils and folded them
Into hazy envelopes and sent them off to strangers

magnolia nights and ivory starsi.
i threw the stars out into the cosmos & used my fish hooks to hang the moon too; hide the sun from wanting eyes beneath the zaffre mountains (look how they sleep) painting the night (wisteria) with such grace.

ii.
for who could know the wonder growing a pair of antlers can bring for a small child. time to decorate [find what you can]: shattered compasses, gears [never do they turn], maybe glitter. look how pretty she is with her elegant horns- all isabelline white & with its specks of fallow & teeth splashed with honeydew [no makeup] & a compass too many to show her the many ways to make mistakes.

iii.
has anyone ever wondered how a but

Harvest MoonThree a.m. moonlight
across lazy dust motes; a
tree scrapes the window.
Your arm weighs on my hip like
whispered promises of love.

Apologies to LaoEach day is its own microstep--
since I woke from my mother's womb,
I longed to mimic new words, trammel
the sound until it blossomed

like a newborn, and oh how I birthed
stories--told them how I wanted
the author's sacrosanct title
once I've grown. But growing meant

learning the practice of citizens
and their due contribution: beast-slaying
nature of please, thank you,
an apology: sincere

or not. Then there is time--the first
breath of nine, exhalation
of five, the suffocating mandate
of overtime. You grow used to it:

the cyclical disappearance of parents,
pervasive need of sleep, a home-
cooked meal's gradual transmogrific

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

crystallophonethere is a punchcard sin
like a queen of spades smoldering in an alley.

Engine,
you hear how the gears churn,
singing faster than we did before
back when black magic dropped like a
pair of socks from the sky with supplies
taped to a note that said
(oh, look at you now)
'U.S.A.,
freedom.'

such a beautiful brain:
what
what girl
runs on gasoline?

have a gallon
or we can call it a balloon,
and a new pair of glasses
for your tapered eyes
(you peel the bark back on the logs,
darling,
but you're not sure what you see),
and life says,
either nail jello to a tree,
successfully,

or keep your
icicles hanging from the eaves,
ca

preludesi.
blue rose into the city backdrop
like balloons, a million for the
morning sun prelude.

ii.
i've not slept a dream
but i have cried a salty face
and letters spilled like beans
into my moleskine,
almost as virgin as i once was
with few stories between my covers.

iii.
the kettle's belly boils
like my head upon a pillow.

iv.
i am guilty for rarely finishing my tea
even when i use the small mugs;
pour, rinse, repeat.

v.
perhaps today i will play dead.

vi.
perched behind my blinds
it dawns on me that i am surrounded
by walled neighbours, strangers,
they're just preludes to lovers
the way i am always
prelude to the one.

the back of your head against my washed pillowcaseI find it
disconcerting
that
you are the King
of my own Head
& that I am
subjugated
by my own
temptation

My bones, your
welcome mats,
cushioned
to your insatiable
satisfaction

--

I find this
discomforting,
your constant
rebirths in my
libido, despite
three years of
silent therapy,
false recovery
& worshipping
the wrong gods

you are the best muse
for struggling artists
everywhere & worst
case of the bubonic plague
since the bubonic plague

--

I find you
disenchanted
in the middle
of any where,
peeling flesh,
lulling sullen
sirensongs at
3AM

I shot a flock
of phoenixes
& ate Adam's
poison apple

the tease of Earl Greywhen leaves speak they rustle
but shan't talk of lost cattle

out of bags like cats lying
purring perhaps stirring

gainsaying the language
of pictures - much fewer
than one thousand words
whispered soft - softer

ours to read into
by catching a hint of
some spiciness brewed
a sugaring of love -

or upcoming danger
a giving or taking
from whom in this strange land
once was a stranger

by this chance assessed
through one's cup or glass
darkly lit yet it be
from wet leavings of tea

hopefully let it be
the sugaring of love -

llp - dA - jan2013
DD - feb1/2013

despondenti.

"are you sleepy today?"
"yes."
"but you were sleepy yesterday."
"i know."

ii.

she stirs her pomegranate green-tea until it turns from clear to purple
setting it on her bedside table and climbing back into bed again.
her fingers follow the bluer-than-usual constellation veins on her wrists and down
to the freckle on her forearm and then the scar on the inside of her elbow
crossing the tendon as if it were crux.
and then she remembered that God hasn't been with her lately.

iii.

today is long and sunny but when she steps outside the humidity creaks her bones
and her skin starts to inflame.
she assumes that if getting the mail

cliffcliff
e.bojnowski

on velvet roads,
I impale a belated dawn
with my incisors and
shiver with perfect leaves-

I have no qualms
with the dark hills
that slope
and stagger into
a bed of scorched fly husks:

where
the thrum of the ground
melds
with the rapids in
my clairvoyant ears.

ZemiThings having to be returned to their transparency:

i.
/ green mist-earth / knit
atmosphere / fathomless
blue-lavender / lights
spun out from light

ii.
are recalcitrance / and you
are convergence

& - a fingernail of summer
- a melting of rain
- a crown of flowers
- a priest of sunsets

(beautiful? I love you, because. Zemi.
Zemi. are you beautiful because I love
you? Zemi? )

iii.
I imagine this is what it's like to breathe sea foam
over the Cliffs of Moher: hydration. absolution.

A ParenthesisYou were (a parenthesis, that paused
the daily, mundane stuff
of life;
a bundled breath
of fresh joy,
and borne in the wonder
of love.

Gasping and grasping,
'til in quiet you laid
still;
and I, my Child,
lie in quiet, still
tears).

And now, that is all you are,
and still so much more.

starspunobserving the romanticism
of hooded cemetery kids,
smoking cigarettes pretending
they are not dead.

you were always so sure
about my uncertainty,
you watched
all my pick up lines
drop things.

we built the heat
of the evening from the solidity
of starlight,

pretended
that two teens at the park
at midnight
is the stuff of teen novels
(cliches dim on
our leaf-gold horizon)

your eyes darted
from the gray expanse
of the churchyard & wandered
in thoughtful
paths.

i wanted to ask you
if i could follow. shove
the words aside &
remember that i came here alone.

i remember our innocence
in the static b e t w e e n
stars

ConfessionLips met in clumsy haiku,
against each other, pressed,
the way the earth touches the sky,
soft and whimsy as the dusk.

Tongues painted passion-
          sunset colors,
          halcyon atmosphere, infused,
-upon every awaiting space offered.

Metaphors dotted the hallows of limbs and tasted like the seasons-
          a bursting and vibrant spring,
          a hot and passionate summer,

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Liquid City

by ~Is-lnds, Jan 5, 2012, 2:39:59 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

here, at the bottom - lovers.
there are lovers disassembling 
themselveslost in and to the
desperate motion in 
of - waves. 

 - did you think the continents
moved themselves? see them slip, 

in an open sleep. less go, come. 
come and, and - again. trembling 


here, at the bottom - their eyes 
are lightless. hollow bodies left
restless,

           the sea does not sleep.

Liquid Cityby ~Is-lnds

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~Is-lnds

'empty lovers, restless bodies wander a liquid city'

+ featured
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Daily Deviation

Given 2013-01-22

Liquid City by ~Is-lnds is a gorgeous display of poetry crafted on an emotional level between unsettled silence and restlessness. ( Featured by ^NicSwaner )

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=vvolatile Feb 8, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Oh my god I don't know how I didn't see this until now! congrats on the DD wes, teheh.

you definitely deserve it

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~Is-lnds Feb 8, 2013

haha
thank you bay

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=vvolatile Feb 8, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

you're welcome c:

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~greenleo94 Feb 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Gorgeous. I especially like: "in an open sleep. less go, come. / come and, and - again. trembling" The beat is fantastic, and I love your phrasing. <3

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~Is-lnds Feb 3, 2013

thank you! you're lovely.

your comment made my night. im happy you're satisfied with beat and diction - i thought it was simple, maybe too simple. but it seems to work!

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~greenleo94 Feb 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Aw. :3 Thanks.

Glad to hear!

Your piece deserves stuff like that. It's simple, but that gives it a stark, pounding quality. Sort of like the ocean. It works perfectly.

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~Is-lnds Feb 7, 2013

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!travelgirlxx Jan 28, 2013

You've been featured: [link]

Keep up the fabulous work!!

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~Is-lnds Jan 28, 2013

haha i'll try
and thank you!

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!travelgirlxx Jan 28, 2013

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