#7 word poem

[lets-dance-to-joy-division]

I measure years by laughs, by tears.

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

You followed me all the way over here. What‘s your purpose? Make it clear. Followed'? Didn‘t you say that if fate was on our side, we would meet again? Therefore, I came to see you! How come his bullshit is so fragrant?

Word of Honor 《山河令》 | Talk, Hozier | Episode 2 of Word of Honor, tl. Honourable Team @ Viki Rakuten. companion gifset with just episode 7 shenanigans!

[jb-cohen]

People around me keep getting younger. I find my way back on the rocks. Listening to the water

thinking about cows.

Last night I left

Without moving my body—

Last night I left without moving my body

And she asked me where I went

I’m on the rocks,

There is a beautiful man next to me

And I can’t help but to wonder

How I got so lucky

But maybe I always have been

There is love everywhere

It’s out there for you

It’s out there for me

It’s where people don’t mind your silence

It’s in the dog who made you hesitate going out the door

It’s in patience

It’s in listening ears

You’ll see it between the two geese

swimming together, communicating

to the one across the pond

It’s in questions

It’s in allowing youthful connection

It’s in a willingness to learn

It’s in the ones who ask you were you’ve gone

Where you’ve been

and how it was

[salovie]

If I only had one “I love you”

and my whole long life to give it,

I’d give it to you today.

A hasty, precious choice,

but you should know that

my perfect joy

is soft, blue,

close to

you.

[dobaara]

A PICTURE OF PRETTY LONGINGS AND COVERED TEETH BY S.R.

[matthew-pasquarello]

fall-asleep-7

while you wait: the lobby is burning, with nothing but salivation to combat the flames start spitting

to each of us holding hands we sweat unbearably we drop our business cards in tin buckets hoping for the songbirds to choose our patches of earth, pick me please,

i've been fattening up the worms

[technology-devotee]

never let the objectum mf into poetry class 😭🗣️💯

[taohun]

YOU’RE LISTENING TO ALL INDIA RADIO, ILLINOIS

(translations of phrases used under the cut)

meri jaan - my life/my soul

aaya tere sheher mein raanjha tera - and so, to your town, your lover comes (specifically raanjha, of heer-raanjha, a punjabi folk tale of two lovers)

heeriye - heer, of heer-raanjha

[ransomroom]

💨💨💨

Smoking's a disgusting habit

And I'm a disgusting faggot

So shut up and let me have it

My disgusting-faggot-habit

[borderlinevader]

from the river to the sea, one day, all of us will be free.

[evergreenwords]

Providing at the alkaline.

The alkaline, the range.

The natures’ flowing, baiting us

Somehow escape the name.

Backwards in your swimming pools.

All your children breathe.

The gases they are stronger than the poison that it brings.

Doctor sleep or doctor rest?

These the things we fear most best.

Salem fires Salem burns.

These the men that are most learned.

Begged me in the temple’s best.

My adornments are theirs from which to tempt.

I yet I am temptress, ruler.

Coulda’ told me, couldn’t fool her’.

But beg you will, but beg she’ll not.

You are the fool. The common thought.

-s.z (Insidiae)

[albertxylin]

Sleeper Car

I usually forget to grease the wheels, And the train moves fine enough without it that I never remember to buy more. But a windfall has landed in my lap, And the journey is a lot smoother without the screech of metal on metal And the friction that brings.

[waywardsalt]

Everyone on Mercay knows Linebeck

For some reason, playing Animal Crossing always inspires me to write, and today it inspired me to write this... poem? This ...thing vaguely about Linebeck. It’s exactly 1000 words and I haven’t edited it since writing it. 

So... if you’re interested in reading it, then please enjoy!

~

Everyone on Mercay knows Linebeck

He’s famous and brave and confident

And he looks the part

In his pristine coat and dashing scarf

With his flamboyant movements

And charismatic words

Most people on Mercay

And all others that know of him

Don’t think to look beyond that tailored mask

And allow their attention to be drawn

To his alluring tales

Instead of what is

Right in front of them

Those more enamored by him

Can describe his face perfectly

They always recall the curve of his smile

The glint in his sharp green eyes

The way his hair falls behind his shoulders

Too captivated by each of his calculated moves

To see the way his eyes are sunken and his cheeks are hollow

How though his hair is well-taken care of

It’s at the same time unkempt and uncombed

Every time he is seen in town

And his dexterous hands

With the prominently visible tendons

And the thin fingers that look just a bit too long

With jagged fingernails that look as though

They were bitten rather than trimmed

And whenever his coat sleeve slips back

You can see for a brief moment

His rail-thin wrists

And anyone who goes out of their way to see him

Will tell you

That is all you are able to see of him

Under those immaculate clothes

And little as it is

Hands tell detailed stories

But this captain’s hands

Tell no tales with such detail

As bandaged fingers suggest little more than

Slight mishaps in repairs

Or a slip of the hand when cooking

If he allows you close enough

Close enough to

Touch his hand for just a moment

Then every time

Without fail

Those skilled and slender hands

Are just a little too cold

Despite the way they move

And their proximity to machinery

The sailor smiles in such a way

That makes you forget the temperature of his skin

And turns your attention to his face again

His gaunt face

Hidden in plain sight

With dry and cracked lips

And circles under his eyes

Dark as the deepest depths of the sea

And the way his smile is never reflected in his eyes

He tells lavish stories and details to the listeners

Faraway islands with dangerous dungeons

That they will never see

But with enough detail and imagery

That they don’t feel that they need to

He tells about the ocean

About the endless horizon

And about himself

About his adventures

And his achievements

And everything he’s seen beyond that endless horizon

But he never talks about himself

People come from around the island to hear him talk

A few coming for the stories

A few coming out of admiration

A few coming out of desire

And they hear about an accomplished, adventurous sailor

And never about the person sitting in front of them

The ones most fascinated with him know nothing about him

They have to assume that he likes the color blue based on his coat

He never allows anyone to buy him a drink

And he never tells anyone what he likes to eat

No one knows what his hobbies are

What kinds of flowers he likes

If he likes any animals

What kinds of books he likes to read

No one knows how old he is

How long he’s been sailing

The ones most attentive when the stories are told

Make the uncomfortable realization

That he never mentions another person in his stories

No family

No friends

No companions

When he speaks to someone in the tavern

He never says their name

When someone goes to touch him

He flinches away before recomposing

He never asks favors

And never makes small-talk

Whenever he wins at cards

It can be heard that his lies

Have the same cadence as the truth

Though no one knows the truth

And no one wants to admit that

He is a different person

With everyone he speaks with

The only consistency

Seems to be the brief glimpses of anger

Flaring up so sincerely in his eyes

Or bright flashes of fear

In the way he reacts

When someone asks if he is being honest

Some nights he can be found

In the corner of the tavern

Sitting silently

With nothing to eat or drink

Laying out fifty-two cards

And then sorting them with a cold

Mechanical

Methodology

Some days

After a story he struggles to tell

He leaves very early

Blinking hard and resisting the urge to cover his ears

Shying away from touches and lights and smells

He is rarely seen in the streets of the town

And sometimes any semblance of cheer and confidence

Is gone

Replaced with listless stares and lethargic movements

And once you see past his charisma

Though the pristine grooming

The perfectly tailored responses

And the too-perfect movements

You find yourself looking at something

Something

Beneath a hollow mask

Made up of tireless imagination

Of exaggeration and mimicry

Something to hide behind

A mask that leaves you wondering

Why it was crafted in the first place

And what it is hiding

Beyond hints of an emaciated body

And shallow stories and replies

This mask

Propped up by fear

And endless charisma

And just-right movements

This mask hiding something

That almost no one on Mercay

Realizes even exists

And even those who do know what exists

Cannot search any further

As even with the mask identified

You cannot see underneath it

Unless the one wearing it removes it

And so those pretty words

Distract the people of Mercay

Away from what is hiding in plain sight

Keeping them from that deeply uncanny feeling

That something is deeply wrong

With the man that they idolize

The man they know nothing about

Except that he is a sailor

Who shares his name with his ship

But people still hear his stories

And find themselves captivated

By this hollow illusion of a man

Sitting in front of them

And still people will say

Everyone on Mercay knows Linebeck.

[self-titled-poet]

I often picture the girl

Who is only (just) 18

In dark eye make up

And shoes that hurt her feet,

Because that’s what

Grown ups wear,

In a pub drinking

Glasses of things

Only adults are allowed to drink

Surrounded by people

All (at least) double her age

And the man at the centre

His hand resting on her thigh

As he jokes about her

Thinking she cannot hear

How his friends make

Envied comments about

What it must be like

To fuck someone so naive

So inexperienced

Someone so fresh and tight

How she leaves

To go outside and put

A stick between her teeth

That chokes her

All because she wants

To know addiction

To learn why he loves this

But cannot love her

I often think of this girl

And how those cigarettes

Were so loosely rolled

Yet she would spend hours

Hanging out of

Her parents window

Swirling white rum in a glass

Puffing smoke into the sky

Practising making tubes of paper

Stuffed with dry

Sweet smelling grass

All the while

Watching the stars twinkle

She had no hobbies

No interests

Only him, and those parts

Of him she could pour

Deep into herself

To fill the nothingness he gave her

Something inside her

Drowned

Or burned

Or he suffocated out

Because not even a shred

Of the girl at 18

Existed beyond those days

I think she still wonders

Those places

Like a ghost trying to find

The things she lost

The things he tore away

The things he no longer remembers

But I do

I think about the girl

So freshly 18

Lost in the man

That had a habit of plucking souls

And shoving them carelessly

Into his denim pockets

Letting them roll around

Next to his lighter

The fully formed man

Who’s comments stay fresh

Haunting the places

They went together

As if it were yesterday

And not seven years ago

The girl who does all she can

To not be deceived by love

The way she was

But forgives herself for being

No older than a child

Who is trying still

To piece together hobbies

To learn to only wear flat shoes

And to be youthful

With colourful makeup

I mourn the loss of a girl

Who had so much potential

But i suppose only those girls

Are worth being ripped open

—k.l

[asoftepiloguemylove]

"How can you hide from what never goes away?"

Heraclitus, 7 Greeks (tr. Guy Davenport)

[glockg1rl]

7

< rain, rain, go away >

thunderous roars

moody grey clouds wailing

stuck inside my house