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Literature Text
I don't know who it is you
think walks down these nights
with you. Couldn't be
me, I live too far out in
the desert and there are five
goal posts between here and
where you'd think to land. I know
four women, though, look like
your hips and I have loved them
darkly. If I could line them
up along a merry river, we'd stop
with birds and stones. If they would
drink, another win to sing across
the gorge. As it is, I tune bare feet
to the earth now, after you, after
your ways. I drink drum beats
through the soles of my feet, my heart
hears Jesus walking back in.
The end time's coming, I know. My loves,
let's be wearing each others'
clothes when they come counting.
think walks down these nights
with you. Couldn't be
me, I live too far out in
the desert and there are five
goal posts between here and
where you'd think to land. I know
four women, though, look like
your hips and I have loved them
darkly. If I could line them
up along a merry river, we'd stop
with birds and stones. If they would
drink, another win to sing across
the gorge. As it is, I tune bare feet
to the earth now, after you, after
your ways. I drink drum beats
through the soles of my feet, my heart
hears Jesus walking back in.
The end time's coming, I know. My loves,
let's be wearing each others'
clothes when they come counting.
Literature
on not knowing.
this road was ten miles long.
i traveled barefoot.
Literature
a tongue of tea leaves
she has spoken with a tongue of tea leaves
the autumn pied piper
across discarded beer bottles
plays to the phantoms
of summer
the wind, her dusky eyes
a twinge to her rouged lips
rouge, and ragged
her nail polish sparkles
little asteroids glitter
like Orion's belt
she has three places, out of time
three droplets of crystal
the crystalline
she, with her tongue of fortunes
the divine, prediction, prey and predator
she's counting courtship flowers
the tolling bells
among absinthe and aromatic rings
the nettle and bee stings
so that between chances
Literature
She was Beautiful
We have a daughter
called poetry—
quiet with little fuss—
looking up
& molding us as god.
Her small verbs
span indifferent cities,
aloof mountain ranges,
& the hours of
blank faced clocks
between sunrises.
She knows there are
worse things than dark—
the black waters of the mind
are scarier.
We have created her
from love,
pressed & dried bouquets
& willow sticks—
things only we
could make a life from.
One day we'll wake up
as different people
but the magic
of a shared procreation
will keep us tied—
wanting to see each other's
newly patchworked faces.
We have a daughter
called poetry—
Suggested Collections
I have no mercy I have no mercy I have no mercy. But I have love.
© 2006 - 2024 manchaliaina
Comments6
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Oh. WOW. This is more like it!
I think my only critique I can ravage up at all is that I wanted a bit of punctuation variation. For example:
your ways. I drink drum beats
through the soles of my feet; my heart
hears Jesus walking back in.
To me the semi-colon there rather than the comma says so much more. Pregnant pauses, hoorah. And of course, it's also more grammatically correct.
I also sort of preferred the sound of 'It couldn't be me - I live too far out' rather than minus the It - possibly because 'couldn't be me' on its own reminds me of Who Stole The Cookie From The Cookie Jar, and that rather spoils the atmosphere.
I know
four women, though, look like
your hips and I have loved them
darkly.
This was the only moment that confused me. Is it missing a 'who'?
The birds and the stones and the tuning the feet left me speechless. Gods, you're wonderful.
I think my only critique I can ravage up at all is that I wanted a bit of punctuation variation. For example:
your ways. I drink drum beats
through the soles of my feet; my heart
hears Jesus walking back in.
To me the semi-colon there rather than the comma says so much more. Pregnant pauses, hoorah. And of course, it's also more grammatically correct.
I also sort of preferred the sound of 'It couldn't be me - I live too far out' rather than minus the It - possibly because 'couldn't be me' on its own reminds me of Who Stole The Cookie From The Cookie Jar, and that rather spoils the atmosphere.
I know
four women, though, look like
your hips and I have loved them
darkly.
This was the only moment that confused me. Is it missing a 'who'?
The birds and the stones and the tuning the feet left me speechless. Gods, you're wonderful.