unefillemauvaise

[unefillemauvaise]

Arielle Twist, from Disintegrate/Dissociate; “Mother/Creator”

[Text: “Mother, / I don’t know if I can do this / can I process / can I forget / can I be whole / can I be holy / I know / I can’t breathe / with these broken ribs”]

[unefillemauvaise]

Because

there is

no you

I mumbled

a few words

about faith

and heartache

then mailed

that Christmas card

to myself

[unefillemauvaise]

desire, the fiery heart of longing, a breath of clouds, permutations beneath the stars, silver lined at the ears,

the shadows recede, dawn spreads her skirt across the sky, she’s weaving the warmth of Spring, season of birth, the skies are full and the universe said bring yourselves, be satiated,

lights flickered in the dark, souls in communion and you knew, this is what it means to be full.

[unefillemauvaise]

graves of poe.

l. my mortal image a wintry sheath of sovereign thoughts surging like a tempest within my veins ll. it was the dark root of a nightly forest with tangled paths like breaking stone lll. you dug me out of those trenches and loved me back to health lV. a suffering servant thine godly priests I did not believe V. a soul returning from death? Vl. you have nourished my breath softly whispering with pieces of my heart a feeble murder land   Vll. you made it wholly again

[unefillemauvaise]

Collotype prints of Japanese flowers from Japan, volumes 1-3, published 1897-1898.

[unefillemauvaise]

I had every intention of cacophony, open field notes, & sensible wearing to narrow crawl at sight under small ticking, teach me the long vowels of your name, wait to run, night visits in bed, in stillness a place for ourselves fiercely how the knees end at the count of ten, together 

[unefillemauvaise]

The fog clings to the fields this morning

as I would cling to you.

I and the mist linger, dozing

in this half-light of dawn.

Why must the insistent sun

call us both to rise?

stephen brooke (c)2022

[unefillemauvaise]

EVERY TIME I WRITE A POEM I PUNISH MYSELF STILL

look, pour light on these bones My body the crime scene, the disparate of ideas when we were hopeful we ate, when were were sad we dreamed

Your body touching mine, so warm so cuddly horrid form so faucet eyes beget me at times and I say I’ve Been far and back to the same house that haunts me

where is a moonful spoon of math-logic for the histories that consume me? Oh dear Aristotle, Oh dear Pythagoras, Me as a triangle locked by borders

look at this beautiful before me whose very nature is calm spring and how distant I feel in shape sleeps so softly and I’m fading like alien weather

my veneer of non-personhood’s foible is that I’m sometime’s outside my self,

so the light to pour a libation to the shapes of spring, the hips, the shoulders, and i want to tuck my head by her neck and I want to speak wordlessly “I love you” frustratingly un-whole

please allow closeness to be the cure, to be the circle celebrating all things

[unefillemauvaise]

Mar21 the last of the Roses - marina de wit

[unefillemauvaise]

🌱 Source

[unefillemauvaise]

I miss who I used to be.

cellphonehippie’s october prompt list: day 30 — faceless.

[unefillemauvaise]

Tom Perkinson

Ribbon of Light

[unefillemauvaise]

anne sexton // richard siken// margaret atwood // virginia woolf

[unefillemauvaise]

"Look" by Franny Choi, published in The Atlantic

[unefillemauvaise]

Carol Ann Duffy, from The World’s Wife; “Medusa”

[Text ID: “I’m foul mouthed now, foul / tongued, / yellow fanged. / There are bullet tears in my / eyes. / Are you terrified? / Be terrified. / It’s you I love,”]

[unefillemauvaise]

When my depression works the graveyard shift All of the people I’ve ghosted stand there in the room

[unefillemauvaise]

🖤.