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Literature Text
I teach a caterpillar
How to conceal its markings
On a grapevine that grasps
The trellis, trimming
Chewed leaves. Bigger
Bite marks upon bite marks.
A rotten apple-core chrysalis
Is hanging on a vine.
All it ever does is change.
I taught the grapevine
Where to grasp the trellis.
And all it ever does is want.
How to conceal its markings
On a grapevine that grasps
The trellis, trimming
Chewed leaves. Bigger
Bite marks upon bite marks.
A rotten apple-core chrysalis
Is hanging on a vine.
All it ever does is change.
I taught the grapevine
Where to grasp the trellis.
And all it ever does is want.
Literature
zero
i swore
i would never number the poems
i wrote about myself because that
would be like ticking off the days
until my breakdown;
i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself
at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings
on industrial promises
colors always felt much more
appropriate for the purple boiling
beneath my heart and the pallid
purposelessness of my head,
but i was born into a colorless world--
no one sees me behind the metallic scars
of my skin and iron grating of my voice against
the grain; no one sees me as more than
gray regret or monochrome mistakes,
no one sees me but
all i ever wanted was for a
fallen god with feathered he
Literature
Zemi
Things having to be returned to their transparency:
i.
/ green mist-earth / knit
atmosphere / fathomless
blue-lavender / lights
spun out from light
ii.
are recalcitrance / and you
are convergence
& - a fingernail of summer
- a melting of rain
- a crown of flowers
- a priest of sunsets
(beautiful? I love you, because. Zemi.
Zemi. are you beautiful because I love
you? Zemi? )
iii.
I imagine this is what it's like to breathe sea foam
over the Cliffs of Moher: hydration. absolution.
Literature
thyroidal cartilage
i held a bird between my hands,
swallow's throat twitching in laryngeal spasms.
when i whispered gently,
lips millimeters from its ear,
'you are mine; there is nothing you can do'
it struggled, beak clicking like talon-fingernails on porcelain
i didn't mean to let it free, i swear.
it beat me back with a single shining look;
beaded gaze bruising, breaking capillaries and
bringing blood to the surface.
i would have gotten a black eye if i wasn't careful.
i wasn't.
careful, i mean. i was never careful.
with mirrored eyes i watched it fly,
wings beating in time to my heart.
my breath was a cloud of smoke,
droplets condensing
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The need to feed
Is a permanent steed
Is a permanent steed