They shot back and forth like apparitions
Shocking news, he said, they found a planet
made entirely of diamonds
I see a girl and an orange and it rectified her puddle rings
here, miss mahogany rioted
masterbated her pleibian ruby
she did not care for the playful numbers
I cannot knight what excites me
- Cath (Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell)
the cats jaw anxiously angular
a parachute of poppies,
is this path primordial?
am I forever ambered in this coin suspended?
if held against the sky
a spit of cloud says I’m falling
but I want to fly
I want to fly.
Consulation of Constellations, as my brother spoke
And my one calligraphy is mostly calamity
but goddamn this masterpiece
Laying on this beach of overexposed chamomile babies
I’m living under the best of abandoned highways
Post mortem punchlines
And the sides of my lips flair like fur-lined stingrays
Everything I touch is humming
from both sides,
a syrupy chorus embarks: reigniting the girl but burning her twice
And the rhythm of an anthem is less in tact
I find little hideousness despite these things:
I am the center of a hijacked perspective
& theres a sign-here secret of everything electric with jealousy
Mostly I have to speak privately to each compartment of my body
…to the purest of creatures (why smaller than the size of my two cupped hands entwined?) Who sleep in the sutures of the junk yard pervert. Who gazes strings fang baited & straight at my soul but he’s lost both his eyes.
& I’m sorry it took me so long to say I love you.
Fuck the teeth and the flossing way that feeling won’t fit in.
I want to sinew my outcast to an invisible phone line that hears enough good mornings, and enough good nights.
And right now I feel like pock holed epoxy. Like chalked up pearls birthed by balking streetlights. I feel sorry for the pillows that grew too thin for sound sleep, how much they must miss the tussle of meaning something to someone. Copious loneliness, I wonder if I might start a hotline, for old tool carrying caddies and lost letters and feathers that couldn’t help but converge.
- thine self
The National - You Were a Kindness
"Everything’s weird and we’re always in danger…"