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[savage-words]

My son thinks he’s seeing lightning bugs

for the first time.

He’s only four and doesn’t remember last July.

“Don’t try to grab them,” I say.

“Hold your hand like this.”

We stand by the cemetery fence.

I show him how to raise his palm up beneath them,

a pink platform floating up through the dark.

“These are big dipper fireflies. They dip. They swoop.”

I draw a “J” in the air.

“So, we catch them from below.”

He lands one, too hard, and laughs.

“Gentle. Don’t grab. Just watch.”

The little beetle turns a half circle and flies off.

“Can I keep one?”

“No. We don’t keep. We only visit.”

Out across the cemetery,

they are shining green and yellow on the graves.

We are growing old.

The Earth.

The nation.

The village of ghosts I call myself.

“Do they sting or bite, Dada?”

“No, sweetheart.”

Not in the way you mean.

Not in the way you mean.

[savage-words]

Days of yearning are over, that great longing, burnt into the arc of the western sky goodbye

[savage-words]

She wore her Heiligenschein well On the road Searching For everything found Surface only burn A halo, imagined Never fully blown Formed temporarily Perchance to earn, or to learn Some truthfull fullness If allowed to bloom into attachment She wore fast the halo Never taking its game To what it is capable of Handling, nothing approaching doom Wanting, It says everything Yet only plays at viewing From the safety of afar Or safe unchallenging beds In beds and beds A rose who never grows Anything but More useless No storm this But a single cloud So quickly out of the sky Scared away by the fire Fear indeed the mindkiller Yet kept as reminder Of almost achieved glow

[savage-words]

With neither ideational bon bons nor sacred lightning for insight

There I'll be just sitting in a starless corner hoping the darkness coughs up some answers

[savage-words]

had a video call with Kiddo

he sang me happy birthday

ate some praise from my fantastic mother

it was hard to swallow the bitterness of the flat line everywhere between

i chewed hard on thank you before i spit it out

yeah yeah

today alone lasted 41 fukken years

.

on a less philosophical note

why?

[savage-words]

the android bends its programming into a thousand paper cranes, repeats the process threefold. three wishes is the traditional number of legend, according to the databases of myth. this must be done properly, the origami perfectly transformed, the wishes free of necromancy, of salacious intent, and of the multiplication of power. Nervous, the android speaks the words, gathering the cranes, hoping they will take form: heart soul free will please–and the cranes twist free from their binary grasp and flutter into the sky.

[savage-words]

when i return you've dispersed with rose incense fumes left me some

burnished

silence-sleep but i couldn't trace it thank you so much: your concluding pearls break away bounce off into the gamboge mist:

the balcony observes that same forsaken asphalt that never speaks about

you

or sahibi river at dawn ready to conquer your apparition never does:

so far from

the shore

still intimate

with chandeliers of genevieve that rattle some honduran poet now ripely bestowing

cadaver ballads

onto a jejune son:

that you had blown on like dandelions and the spirit was still probing singed flesh

and there was more then but now it's your

reticence

[savage-words]

[savage-words]

the reality of it all is

Go ahead, drink the moon eat the valley scrape up every last morsel of the neon awnings

Keep silent, on the hours it takes to read your manuscripts and correct your acronyms and  stilted pirouettes

Don’t say, hey thanks and we all make mistakes

Pull your hair out pace around dandelion tufts never able to settle

Conveniently forget, we’re not in the cottage core of saving lives or fighting crime or infrastructure improvements

Take a breath, drink some water eat a Snickers and then get to the crux of your urgent benediction.

– yiqi 22 April 2023 12:17 pm

[savage-words]

Crunching rough ibuprofen on your wedding night It's a dry fire; a headache like kissing Swamp Thing A big sloppy wet green kiss, reeking of warmth & Louisiana

Transgressions in dreams like bad ideas in a poetry sketchbook I was never "your man"

I can still smell 127 inconsecutive hydrogen peroxide events All holding hands like a gang out for blood on a kinder planet

[savage-words]

mother knows best // shay brooks

[savage-words]

my blues are woven through

a white picket fence that holds

an afternoon warmth well

into eventide delphiniums reach

to touch the stars while tiny

blues whisper forget me not

wrapped tightly through the lattice

of the swinging gate

open and closed blossoms

to your wrought iron heart

©️-Aubrie-2023

[savage-words]

I love

having

two shoulders

it's just

so practical

[savage-words]

...

the length of a breath… where did this moment come from.? there was no distance…

[savage-words]

I give the bartender

all the cash I have

in my wallet. He

gives me his name but

I’m not here. I’m in

a king sized hotel

bed in NJ. I mouth

the Spanish olive

because I can’t

kiss you, but if I

concentrate and

soften my third

eye, I taste your

exhales.

[savage-words]

hush madness

~

trees rush

through dreams

speed-of-light slideshow

leaves upon leaves

i spin

beneath

arms outstretched

stars glimpse

full-moon in her majesty

hush madness

cinnamon

earth

fire

trees gift me

branches lift me

up

up

up

between

beyond

hush madness

rest

~

azuki lynn

[savage-words]

Parse

Forest parses the farce. Farce parses back. It’s late, and dark, and achy, it’s all been overthought. We’re not getting anywhere.