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[shiverer]

08.27.2019

the river shudders, silver water  spilling into my fingers. there is a promise lingering in my teeth.

the moon limns a shaking throat.  the knife of heat flees, winter- chased, and i ache with august.

let me rest between your ribs. let me memorize the topography  of your shuddering lungs, bronze

compass dissembled. this is a sad  song, love song, and summer left  me gutted. stitch me together.

[shiverer]

split my lip for the innocence i know lies beneath. i think i almost drowned this summer & the swimming pool where i tried is on fire now. this body feels strange & hollow, halfway between an exhale & something else. i want sunsets. i want rooftops. i want to be uninhabitable, the way light falls through an open window. need to be something other than nothing & paint myself as a being instead of a collective. i can’t live through this  loveless july. the air before a lightning storm strikes between my ribs & then i am rendered sharp as falling rain, the color of home changing to ozone. i don’t think i ever left that swimming pool. the skyline is on fire & i am lighting matches on my lips. let me dream for a little while longer, please.

[shiverer]

innocence: catch the girl in grace, and know she’s not a symptom of hell.

gasoline girl, filling in the crevices and perfuming the world in colors–

only light tastes like this.

renewal: girl sleeping in flowers, growing them in her chest, tendrils falling out of her mouth.

what crawls through her throat is a part of me–

only light joins touch like this.

blue glow turns to rose gold.

regression: break the girl with the glassy eyes and stony teeth. she bites.

light grows dark when it becomes syncopated,

soul released and caged again. she becomes an echo

[shiverer]

“when i caught that bird, god, it was so soft. it was so, so soft, very soft, very light in my hands, and i held it tenderly. i held it so tenderly. i held that bird like something beloved. god, but i just want to be as soft as that bird. i go to bed. my body howls. i stare into the darkness and listen. it is a terrible noise. i listen. TOUCH ME, it screams, DESIRE ME, TOUCH ME TOUCH ME TOUCH ME until i fall asleep. my stomach curdles. i think of the bird. i think of that quote love and attention, and i think of it, and i knead bread. in the night my body is saying I AM SO SOFT, MY SKIN IS SOFT, MY HAIR IS SOFT, I AM SO CLEAN, I HAVE TRIED SO HARD FOR SO LONG, and i curl. i knead bread. it is warm and tender. i push, pull, turn, push, pull, breathe, turn. i ache. i come back to the same tender spots. i think about the bird. over and over and over and over and over, i think about my body. i listen. PLEASE. i listen. PLEASE. i listen. PLEASE. i listen. PLEASE. i listen. PLEASE. push, pull, turn, push, pull, turn, push. PLEASE. the bird is soft. PLEASE. love and attention. PLEASE. i press on bruises. PLEASE. i wash my face. PLEASE. i go to bed. my body makes a terrible noise in the darkness. it is okay. im lying. im lying. its not okay anymore. my body. my body. my body. im sorry. somebody should hold you like we held the bird.”

— LONELY BODY // ADRIAN BOUVIER // 06.25.19

[shiverer]

I CRAVE PRETTY BOY. I CRAVE ANGELIC TEETH. I CRAVE SOME SENSE OF INSANITY, MY JAW LOCKED DOWN IN EXPECTATION OF THE INCOMING HIT. I HAVEN'T KNOWN HIM LIKE THE BACK OF MY HAND SINCE 2017, AND YET HE LIVES ON A LAWN CHAIR IN MY BRAIN, ENJOYING THE ONLY UN-HOSTILE HOME HE'S EVER BEEN ABLE TO FIND. I SAY, THAT'S ALL RIGHT, HONEY, AND I SAY, I'LL MAKE ROOM FOR YOU, AND I SAY, I WON'T SMOKE YOU OUT EVEN IF YOU GIVE ME A REASON. HE BIT THE HAND THAT FEEDS HIM, SO NOW I FEED HIM WITH GLOVES ON. HE GETS FAT OFF MY BRAIN MATTER WHILE I WASTE AWAY ON HIS SKINNY LOVE.

[shiverer]

i don’t remember how i fell asleep, but i might remember falling into the dream.

my dream is in black and white, too; or it wants to be. there are colors seeping through. sounds come through the same way—words, little poems broken off mid-sentence, but meant for me.

has anyone ever told me these things before?

i am not replaying the film in my dream—i am not the woman who is in love and is not. but i am also not myself. an actress, maybe, but nameless. there is a window open in this room, and i wonder if that’s where the verses are drifting in from, accompanying a hot breeze. it feels free, and i remember that that is something that i want.

these poetic ideas draw me in, although i am sure i couldn’t interpret them with anything resembling cognition.

i go to the window. to the pink sky and the clouds swirling there. it’s impossible to tell if the lighting comes from morning or evening—is the sun coming or leaving? is it everpresent? am i?

maybe that’s what i want: presence. i seek out the sun and reach for it,

[falling].

[shiverer]

forbidden touch \ chelsea moon

[shiverer]

i told you it was coming and come it did! Body of Water is my second poetry collection and contains six poems about loneliness, mostly. It can be downloaded for free here.

[shiverer]

let me feel invisible and

sneak around the halls

let me be invincible when

i’m within these walls

don’t force me to feel guilty or

let my prayer be known

i just want to feel i’m safe and

let this place be home

ig: abrighterspark

[shiverer]

I’ve been dreaming about you, honey, lilac veil covering your body and walking beneath laurel trees. you took me to the meadow near the river. you brought the wind. i wanted to be enough for you but i was like the wildflowers, overwhelming your landscape but never pretty enough to go home with you. and even if i did, tomorrow i’d die on your windowsill, gentle as air.

[shiverer]

once this is all over with, i do not want to think about surviving.

               instead i’ll write about sunburn, living unforgiving in this equatorial daze,       the crack in people’s laughter,                                and us, whoever we may be.

nothing more about the trade-off between light and guilt.

[shiverer]

rumination

i wanted to wear white linen today. my hair has been falling out; some of the black strands hang on my shoulders and chest, darkening the fabric. sleeping in this dress, at first, was rougher than i anticipated, but it feels worn now — i feel as i hoped i would. lightened.

the sun slipping in through the window does not warm me, but i enjoy the sight of it anyway. how little i thought about it while i prayed last night, for the Lord my soul to take; yet it is not unwelcome.

dying was more of a discomfort than i expected. pain has been a chronic presence for many years now, and i grew to be relatively skilled at focusing my mind elsewhere. this time, however, that was impossible to do, until it no longer was; after that, it became easier than ease. – it became an imperative. my mind was quiet for some time, as it rather still is, and the pain has been entirely absent since.

but i do not believe i am unable to feel. i can feel as well as hear the sheets shift away from me as i slip out of bed; notice my heels thud on the wood of the floor. temperature is not absent, but distant. 

i fantasized a lot about death when i was living. the kind of rumination that feels necessary, yet sinful, blasphemous. who was i to presume i might know? – that is, not what death was, but at least what it may feel like. – even experiencing it now, i do not know if i was ever correct.

fingers, smooth and cold and unwieldy far away, slide over the surfaces of the room. i consider my heavy black shoes, but i am weary of them weighing me down. i run the fingers through my hair rather than a comb. these momentary distractions and fusses do not feel like they take any time at all. they do not feel like anything. i rest my hand on the doorknob: i feel ready. sunday best.

[shiverer]

might fuck around and start a writing network focused around prose poetry + poetry-inspired prose

[shiverer]

view blue — chelsea moon

(pic source)

[shiverer]

Mid summer afternoon naps and leftover chinese food.Naked sweat and nightime love. 80’s hip hop plays. I could peel my skin and still find your tongue on this body. My fingers grown accustomed tracing your back. I do it subconsciously in air. My body language in depression give me 70/30. Provocative is a girl’s name. I shower and i reek with your love.I’m still me with you. Your smile can break my heart and put it together at the same time. You are still you with me. Our pitted stomach grow seeds and then roots. You placed your i love yous behind my upper molar. My pink dildo still in a drawer. I love you too.

[shiverer]

there is a warmth

somewhere centered

in this body

a ruddy persistence

a welcoming

softness in my frame

in my palms upturned

extended

in the space between

my feet

and yours

the sand runs long

sometimes

the air freezes into great white clouds

of mist

obscuring

still I see your mirrored eyes

a gentle light in the distance

to know you are beating

still

the bloody drum

strong staccato

it is enough

some nights the stars

seem closer

than the depth of oceans

endless blue wandering

brought low

and it is enough

your fingertips telegraphing

the chittering of birds

a warmth in the glass

illumined

a ghost of feathered dreams

rustling

[shiverer]

sugared dreams

she kisses me on the mouth & i can taste her dreams of sugar petals drifting on rivers to a place i never knew.

i breathe smoke-filled chimneys & see the sky hovering above ocean blue, how it calls to me how it breaks my name in two.

i sleep with eyes open & grasp peachy flesh with gentle teeth, his hair in my fists, silky loneliness snapping into seams of air.

i hold on tight to things i love, open ribs collect butterfly wings & glitter-dust (sparkling like her eyes when they look upon me.)