an inkstorm summoned under live oak we dreamed. daniel boonelight. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: daniel boonelight
Издательство: Ingram
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Зарубежные стихи
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781631113727
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truly see them for all they are

      sometimes we have to have nothing to say

      for days and weeks that feel like ziplocked cotton

      in order to speak and sing in a deluge of electric

      ushood professing our birthright major seventh into forever

      and sometimes when i watch the ghosts of you

      pass through the walls of my memories

      it is all i can do to keep moving

      and pray for soul stillness

      backlit 1-5-17

      the taxis and cop cars

      used to look alike

      in silhouette and backlit

      and i would like

      to think that my gut

      is getting better

      at recognizing

      the difference between

      danger and safe passage

      but i am still mostly

      inside informed

      and front-lit

      this little piggy 6-25-13

      this little piggy went to the market

      this little piggy got broke

      i would take every mindless moment

      limping towards survival for you

      and prophesy so it disappeared like smoke

      i keep sighing for soon, i wanna relight the moon

      so she's bigger and our orbit's smaller

      and i could smell you all the time

      i wanna find just how wide open

      we could blast our comfort zones

      like a millionaire blowing up a mansion

      and taking to the caves

      cause we're slaves as long as we keep buying

      and our world keeps trying to sell us

      people who don't know how our

      stomachs and throats work

      who sell us our emotions back with interest

      with no interest in our backs

      i've grown so tired of shelling out for glimpses

      when there's an entire oceanful

      of treasures silent on our shores every morn

      and every time i see you on my phone

      like dappled ocean foam

      i cry wee wee wee

      as if to say i've found my way

      all the way home

      your standards 9-20-16

      only you know your standards

      only you set the space

      of what has to go right

      of what you must be, mind and face

      it's a finite set of time

      energy and attention you're given

      and when the course starts to differ

      from that opening sense of driven

      it's really a choice from there

      how you improvise how you behave

      you can reset expectation

      or let it make you its slave

      but regardless of what goes down

      what trophies on the mental shelf

      the lastingest thing of all

      is how you treated others, and yourself

      scar tissue 3-8-15

      no linguistics expert am i but every word

      for beautiful starts with a burst of air

      from the front of someone's mouth

      put that against the several words for sever

      with snakelike starts

      and it's like looking at an open grave

      with a tree growing out

      and i'd climb every time onto those first branches

      of besottedness with a burst of air

      in my lungs big enough to float

      the glints of beauty are

      strikeswift hammers that beat the brain meat

      the perfunctory glaze on a moment,

      they're seeds on a bagel,

      and either fall off into nowhere

      or give a forgettable texture to the inevitably

      bigger

      but scar tissue is a whole nother story

      there are as many kinds of scar tissue

      as donuts in jersey, as regrets in vegas

      and interesting like thirsty, and quiet like records

      it's certainly meaningfully besoughtlessly possessed

      i feel like i linger once flesh filled with ink

      in some primal propaganda i'd once swear was identity

      but thenbliged to scapel the whole damn thing out

      and not knowing which was greater the pain:

      the nerves in prosaic alarm and defense, or

      the being unable to anymore claim that to be

      what once was me, was once what me

      maybe i was just as fresh green and stupid

      but i used to fight for a word with a bird

      whose feathers not a displacement of symmetry held

      o these days i'd trade conversation in a heartbeat

      with a heart that knows beats whose trials scars do meld

      there're hands from jumped fences

      in reckless precarious & whimsical chase

      of the breathless enchantedly new curiosity

      from someone so soul-saving there's no time to waste

      and years thereafter in the stillness of a chair

      it's the quietest smile from the scar of life lived there

      i've known the remains like a flag of survival

      from a country surrounding the vitals and breast

      it was years sacrificing when she should be flying

      it took everyone's cells it took every last breath

      but you see stardust sacred so damn meant to be living

      with encirclements of hands like kid people cut-outs

      and suddenly in places where bikinis

      lend mundane status

      there is vulnerably gorgeously human-fought-bout

      so while i gouge out my former identity