@poems
@poems
table of contributors @__n @aliaena @annanimh @avulpineheart @benladen @duncanbb @IlllllllllllllI @is_isis @lchakoian @majda72 @odiousrex @padycakes @redjives @rocking_g_real @sarainamerica @sarmust @shonankothari @strongerthought @thehapacalypse @thehoopoe @toastbeard
liked we live lives of concession and adopt ideas out of desperation and go from there but thats the idea, right? its a JD Salinger thing where you go down some dark tunnel and it eventually opens up and you get so full you can't fit back out and the alternative is novelty its the laws of attraction, digg articles, and tiny glimmers of hope buried between the lines in the classifieds or a university of phoenix spam email and the thing I can't figure out is how to tell my friend ben that I've never read someone write about technology well at all
my first names keishi my last name is yamada keishi yamada
@__n
Keishi
nights of black powder waking to questions and desire blue starlight nectarine moon my mouth waters at the thought of you smoke clouds saturated canvas blue/black ink envelop me extinguish me let me rest for a while like water you can't hold love in your hands quixotic burning nectar just wrench out my eyes, and my mouth, and my heart so I don't have to yearn for you that empty space you left behind is where my fingers rest now nails digging in till the blood comes
the blanket of snow whispers below, stars keen, howl, echo across the night sky startled out of a dream, kisses for courage, kisses for warmth eiderdown mist pulled back up, cover a shivering nose ice crystal moon slips back towards sleep one hand reaching out, ever gently anchored, on Orion's thigh
his right hand, a star, I'd never seen that before left eye, a beacon, a tractor beam, gateway to a universe right eye, the place of secrets left hand... on my ass, hopefully
bittersweet I imagine you among voices and laughter fuck, I wish you happiness fuck, I wish you here I don't want to know what I was to you because I never fit anywhere anyway but I do want to feel the texture of you, now, under the surface of my skin perpetually astonished by your gifts but it is the you, underneath, that I hear howling, keening, searching more for yourself than for me and somehow I hear you, I see you you must seize life by the throat and make it yours otherwise desire will devour you whole my whole being aches for you but I ache more for your deliverance from yourself +1
aching full moon, dripping sighs pull my arms across in front, and hold me from behind melting into you, let's sleep dreams and fingers intertwined
@aliaena
your grief, your defense in my car, in the darkness, more fucking tears messages on a screen silence that draws blood music that enslaves whispers in an open palm http://www.aliaena.tumblr.com http://www.exquisiteabundance.blogspot.com
Horse Gut You think I have a fat stomach but it is really a dead horse. Dead horses are attracted to me. Dead horses are always tripping me up when I walk and sticking to my stomach making you think it is fat. It is not fat. It is a dead horse. I swear to Christ I wouldn't lie to you about this. If you have ever had a dead horse problem, you understand me. We understand each other right now and it's beautiful. Let's just close our eyes and understand. Doesn't that feel good? All that understanding. A dead horse gut is nothing now, am I right? I'm so right. You are too. This is where our divide divides and the distance is so much smaller. Dead horse to dead horse, and here we are. I love you and your dead horse. I love you and my dead horse too.
Minneapolis
Minneapolis is strong without me, always. I am not strong without Minneapolis, sometimes. There is an imbalance in affection here.
I have said many times, “Minneapolis, I need you. I want you. I miss you. Love me.� Minneapolis says nothing. She is known to be aloof. I never understood those fetishes that left some woman scraping her tits against a tree, begging it to love her back love her back love her. Minneapolis, I would scrape my breasts against your sidewalks. I would lick your dead mice and sleep below your bridges. Love me back love me. I understand now.
With my teeth. I think I will make paper pulp with my teeth. I think I will make fancy paper with my teeth and my neighbor's window screen. I do not like my neighbors. I will steal their window screen for making paper with their window screen and my teeth. I will chew up all the trees in my high rise complex. The chrysanthemums too, for color. I will chew them all for my fancy paper. Cut, chew, spit, knead, spread, dry. I I I I
will fuck off now. do not mean waste time, and I do not mean make paper either. will lay down in a bed and pull out all my eyelashes. will not use my teeth.
The Night is too quiet
Air in, air out of your sleeping sack of blood; percussive, yes, but no invitation to dance.
@annanimh
Tina Hyland
http://www.theshitizens.com
Shuk Song yesterday in the shuk i got a pita scaled with onions garlic poppy seeds. you would have been proud: i folded it like pizza like a good new yorker chewed. and all i wanted then was to whisper a garlicky song of songs in your ear. instead i stood between mountains of strawberries and harissa hills and felt for a moment complete time. and when things are no longer sliced into three i could see in the kiddush cup of my future: i came here a child full of a wonder that was ice thin, or maybe more like white sugar. full of a love like wildflowers.
there has been some end to that. things in me that i can't name are deeper, stronger - less vulnerable to cold and drought. love too - a change. an end. not to love but to my understanding of it and how my heart runs. i could have called to you across the port but instead now i wait under gnarled olive trees, because if a land of milk and honey can sleep a thousand years without the touch of our people, i can wait for my eden too.
@avulplineheart
i would be the gazelle in your song of songs but i have neither swift feet or an antelope's beauty. it feels strange to say but not strange to think that any woman to be yours [to have yours] is a queen, and that instead of sugared affection, instead of candy dreams, i now know that what you wake in me is a joyful hope, a wish, that one day your family and mine are the same song of our songs.
Tiered intimacy. When island's lived diligence reaps stylized intelligence, unwoven, though few too tired to comply. Replicate abundance.
Given
Given shadow lord salary, no second golem shallow tragedy, or white analysis. Terminal in the lost, spired wisdom. We shout 'shall' sermons, in salve-slicked condominiums, make a goddamn world so that my words can watch it crumble. Get ready for the logic, straight system and narrow, in wild loved recourse or we'll end storm callous. A space for no space, no place for one. One watch, no seers, none seen or done. You can prepare a little wild sun you might stay unhappy, though, in weird time lost you'll ready today in fear of lost time. When faintness deceived too many words, too many for the willful among us. Your word-twisting, bring solace, harmonious, uncanny, take words as they're given, none hell-bent for you. Given the broad, black interior minaret, intact and banished, no wonder alone. To find, in time, one, itself. Unbodied bliss, a stolen line like architecture shading no condolences.
Become a fan of: Not really talking. How'd you come, so distant. Really absent. Not a fan of: What has been done. Who you think you are. What will become, what is becoming. Become: a fan of who, what puts itself there for you, what objects you might occupy, whose rhetoric moistens your tongue, which ecology you can abide not subjected to a you. What recognized, which recognized, what recognized, which recognized, what violence can you see, and into which lifestyle does that fit you. When life-affirming, no fantasist, no adventurist, negativity to face utopias with. For when quiet shadows escape from the longer hours, webbed-speak, spitting tears. "You were never worthwhile." While you draw speech bubble words, filled with emotions like smoke, none to believe in, not to be believed. Become a fan of what you want me to believe in.
Ben Gabriel
Death to anyone interior. Fuck the cold slow seep. Fuck your wild fire-pill affect. Theodicy for one and all.
@benladen
Given development in wired unrestricted listening, it hereby has been declared: "The shot soldier remains shot." (I don't want it I don't) You can't eyes yourself. (Your eyes solid shout, "I don't want to why yourself. "Go die. "I am unflattering.")
http://uninterpretative.blogspot.com
6 months My last night here & I lean into you we walk down empty city streets oblivious that I am almost gone laughing, searching for ways to see more of you only hugging before we part Again I see you laughing on the trapeze arms outstretched and perfect pleased, body purring you glow Delinquent kiss in dim fall room your eyes upon me like a tourist’s knowing why I can’t stare back open like a mother’s arms Your face resplendent and alive sulfur water star drenched sky your body submerged against mine slow moving soft sounds private baths You come & go still I have chocolate cake but when I open the door there is no paint drying in a yogurt lid and no smell of toast and you are gone.
@duncanbb
Duncan Beebe
To Kin Landless-- Set it in iron rod send to land Kin well-met on land, realistic enough, This set on, set alone, land was met this in bound of iron rod Mulling, pull on beard pull on hair, Mulling, dog in circle run on rounding! Rod in them Clatter Land on in noise and clatter bound bound land press up and make room to clatter in, realistic enough, realistic enough, We Kin we set iron rod We Kin well met land press up to our legs Land is sound of binding and met bound Foolish is my speech, it is joy To home and joy, set, landed bound, you bound, you bound, you
@IlllllllllllllI
Grant Leuning
http://www.theshitizens.com
As I peel your layers I won't cry Don't cry for me Cipollino too But for now I need a hallelujah fix Do you know where can I get it quick? Oh, reckless dealer of my skin deep Addiction to affection How something so wrong could feel so right? That would be our life dissertation theme But for now, kids, our lesson is simple: How to forget a man. Well, first you find a man Let him touch your soul inappropriately Burn your skin, right, with desire Etch his images on your retina Done? Now let's forget all that. Ready, set, blow That last candle On your cake.
The Cone of Pain, The Plea of “Пли!” Every word of yours is a hook into my flesh Every glance is a seed thrown in the soil
so fresh
So ready for a new cancerous growth of pain It is clear, pathetic and vanilla, I scream. Pass me a cone of it. Please.
plain
Every touch leaves me desire for more,
'course, The veil of vowels is like a towel thrown on my brain Overheated and forgetful of the coolness of my mainframe My poor pure machine, stop these cycles of hope rebirth And you, You, get the finger off my pulse!
@is_isis
locked in the cells of our lives we knock to each other with zeros and ones: i am alive, forget me not, i miss you tremendously dot dot dot dot
http://is-isis.livejournal.com
A chill sets in, is made Howling wind at the door, Breezy cool through the shade, Glistening iced windows roar. Heat can’t penetrate, Let loose the joints fit tight, Banging of windscreens demonstrate The unforgiving futility of flight.
The dying cope, like a body in pain that finds a new place, and the world fades away. Without force, they touch space that brushes the mind, a curiosity that led us out of the womb. At the end a hand beckons, hushes us home, as the living stand witness.
Spilling all the wrongs Out at tired scared moments, Finds a crater and sinks. That taking it back Or making amends, A plea Might bring another end, Or a fragile hover As a reminder of how awful Life is and we aren’t, But still casts its shadow. Not a dark one, Born of fear, An aberration In undying love.
@lchakoian
Lynn Chakoian
Poets aren’t born they wander and bump into things leaving kisses in their wake.
http://chaikoan.tumblr.com/tagged/mypoems
The Tracks of Birds Waves break and scatter the birds tracking hash marks in Persian Gulf sand. Water smoothes the shore, all is as before patient and clean. Car doors jar my reverie, a party moves in stages onto the beach: a dancing boy produces a rug; a singing girl, a thermos of tea. Many carry-out bags are presented to the Persian carpet. Across my horizon a veiled woman walks, with eyes forward, the whites all I see. She shocks me with her feet, pale-naked, peeking from beneath hijab. I watch her heel-pad step into sand, the weight molding imprints into moist dirt; hennaed toes curling and ankles flashing as the night breeze condenses on her hem. She tracks a story, flutters over sand to her family, sits and tucks her pearly feet away. I leave before the water steals all her traces. My own feet clench and steam between leather and laces. They question their freedom.
Cigarettes Like Stars Let's get to the center of it all. Gutters are meant for crawling. Nightclub dolls, men falling. Scuttle up the fire escape ladder to the pinnacle of night. Spidery hair fans above the 18th St. bars, bass rumbles; the roof’s a tilt-a-whirl; our funhouse. Let’s spend the threads of time Over the DC skyline, arm in arm, teetering on needle heels. Here we go, apple-breasted figureheads on the prow of life, sailing on; casting down our cigarettes like stars.
@majda72
Majda Talal Gama
beautiful she turns his head a pretty face thoughts of her body warm as i beats against him he thinks this girl by far the most significant of all his vanity takes hold a blind mind produced for her his ideal reality a universe now fixed a life as death his life for her he see's all this blindly and smiles yet unaware for she loves not the mechanism in the boy's head
fallen we are sad in a pretty world crazy with our fall good sleep great dreams of hope being you that time is best for me naughty boy I am always cry at nice fun laugh go love the day imagine us friends
delicate sweet shaking girl felt smooth; delicate when one tells elaborate language whispering I worship bitter beauty he said luscious beast incubating power a goddess manipulating wills repulsive apparatus beneath you a symphony moments true but all are lies.
(haikus) never speak our names lest seraphim curse your tongues we am most unclean
johnny get your guns if mad men would have their war we will be ready
@odiousrex
sweet ophelia though your tender light shines bright it is not enough
http://odiousrex.wordpress.com
Reactions While you continue to ingest all the good in humanity, Each day I will keep in mind... positivity. While you continue to kill innocent and blame other , call it self-defense... I will mourn for those families. While you desecrate all the good that is seen... I will continue to speak up of your untruths. While you have no more excuses, no friends... I will show you mercy by pretending to dance upon your grave.
11/27 I was born a bird. Just when I learned to fly, My wings were ripped away. Now there’s a hollow feeling. So much pain, my body becomes numb. Hiding behind smiles But, holding back from screaming until my lungs burst Telling myself to be tough So I don’t shatter into a million pieces I was born a bird. But, they made me one of them.
@padycakes
Pady
http://westindiannaga.tumblr.com
Haptic Qualia fingertips trace empty cryptograms on blank exposed flesh like an artist’s brush following every ripple & shadow a story told in pounds per inch in space collapsed by gravity sweaty palms pass through skin touching bone and blood and gut
My Generation i saw the best minds of my generation thrust upon reality Lost heads full of knowledge and visions of the world promissory notes in hand of greatness and dreams Undone like runners tripping to a screeching halt they fall into lives, quiet and profane Grasping at a future that isn't waiting. Dolce et Decorum -- to aspire
@redjives
Jedidjah de Vries
http://J-dV.org/writings/poetry
Meditations on Positivity sometimes we all need a little something to help us through the day street yeah like sometimes when i see homie smiling on the street for no reason i want 2 make sure i slam him in his fucking nose yeah he wont smile no more convenience store i always get very fucking depressed & angry at my convenience store because of that girl that girl yeah shes always saying "have a nice day" yeah well next time ima say "FUCK OFF u remind me of hillary clinton" (political) bank hey homie bank clerk dont smile at me u fucking asshole ima make sure i staple yr hand to yr eye university that cunt dean made me blow up the fucking gymnasium wit nitroglycerin cunt dean hospital yeah if this place had more fucking oxygen tanks i could make a nice explosion yeah wheres their fucking funding on oxygen tanks (social issues)
shop ok how about i set fire to all yr fucking furniture that way u wont have a fucking shop and u can stop being a cunt
Rocking G. Real's Guide to Romantic Poetry
listen girl ok dont get me fucking started, on a Wordsworth he was a depressive, ima make u feel good wit a poetry listen girl ok if u want 2 go 2 movies wit me, all u have to do is call and i'll be there (yeah fucking song lyrics) i'll be there, wit FUCKING FLAMETHROWER
listen girl ok do we have a fucking future, if u send me a dead lizard then i know yr fucking intentions r pure ok ps. i trust yr not fucking fat
@rocking_g_real
listen girl ok i like exploring things wit u, like that time we explored a fucking abattoir, yeah & u got yr hair stuck in cow grinder. memories.
rockinggreal.tumblr.com
King Song I ought not to have disturbed you, my King. How when you cupped my face in your Kingly hand, the bold fingers ought to have warned me. Even when you sipped me, or like a boar wrestled with me, I ought to have kissed idols on my wall, my King. But my body doesn’t know, King. And me the fig, they split me open and the purple-seeded flesh sang your name, King. And hating what you saw, you snapped and stomped me, King. But my sticky flesh stuck to your Kingly shoe. And I ought not to have disturbed you.
a poem for today, the second day of november, in the tenth year after 2000 i thought of your teeth in your mouth like wayward graves huddled together, and of when we had coffee, and how i looked at your mouth.
@sarainamerica
Sara Saljoughi
Muse in the Subway Your eyes sing like reeds Bellowing beauty with your entrance Subtle stings with every glance Hair twisting like smoke’s dance Soft air-like lips blossom sweet Freeze me like the snow capped trees I’m still, motionless among the reeds Wind guiding dreams to me My heart has seen you many times Among automatons and morning lines These tunnels cave my hidden hope That chance encounter with love’s ghost
Omar Waqar
@sarmust
http://www.suchrecords.com
At the airport check-in line
It always seems as I wait in lines that people spew forth from me like S T R E A M E R S
Those daydreamers with their unheard hum of sugar-free, duty-free airport gum that claps amidst the teeth of tongues tied over baggage allowance. At the port part of the airport it’s a long way to the air. Long enough to accommodate thoughts like doing dunkin donuts after immigration and isn’t loneliness like this bubble gum? Chew on it too long and it’ll serve only to whet your appetite. I like to consider in this humdrum holdupThe new world primps itself before I arrive. Its conveyor belt skirt is tugged and straightened even though I’m only going to use it to unload my baggage. A person without a permit pass may even be packed in there.
Still at the airport check-in line While I’m in this check-in line, I want to see a play It needn’t be a musical, but it better make some hay. I want the entertainment to outlast the iPod’s battery I want to be the kid mischievous on the trolley. I’ll zoom past the marble, and even past your momma I want a chance meeting with a witty Dalai Lama. I want to roll on the floor laughing and knock those in front of me down Either that, or I’d like to be crowned. I’d like to get down with more than just my shoelaces I’d like to kiss all the pretty faces. I want a beach ball just to knock up every wall I want the pregnant wall’s babies to make the enclosure for a lemonade stall. I want to throw off my poise and people altogether I’d like to mumble about something other than world weather. I want to cartwheel and gallop even though I can do neither I want a big big sandwich to work on in its corner. I want cobble-stoned check-in lines, so venting weapons are always handy Even as we vow that weapons in suitcases aren’t dandy. I want the nice officer here to take off his shirt And I want the pregnant lady waiting to at least bring out the squirt.
I want to see the business class line for what it really is- a dot As I inch forward, I’ll likely strike the plot. Eventually, yes, the thought will probably strike Maybe all I need is money, (someone to marry right).
Shonan
Then, sure as this hell, I’ll skip over with a delight.
@shonankothari
I feel like I’ve stood by her through the full term of her pregnancy I’ve even harboured dreams for little baby Nancy. I want my bags to lift me and I want the wind to fill my skirts It’s too bad my travel gear is trackpants and t-shirts.
Grace It is a subtle knowledge deep in the tissues, born of long training or pain. A sure awareness-the weight of a limb, the cost of lifting it, the reward. You recognized my dancer's hands from the arrangement of fingers on the teapot. Your own grace took longer to see. When a turn of the weather left the day's thunderclouds aflame in my hips, I curled on your sofa like a wounded cat. It hurts, I said, knowing your thick hatching of scars rebuked my impertinence. I know, you replied. And when you reached out in an embrace, we both knew the precise strain I exacted from your ravaged shoulders, your twisted, resplendent arms.
So Lovely There is something uncouth that sings at funerals. It says: you have permission to be happy. Children giggle and clutch their parents' legs. We plant our loves like seeds in the earth to glean love at each harvest. The same song sprouts with it each year--perennial weed! But they are so lovely together, blossoming; we never seem to mind.
Night Terror She is terrified of losing pieces of herself in the dark. What's to stop a knee from vanishing? Might not a hand on its way from lap to mouth simply never arrive? She tries to maintain contact, rubbing the fine hairs of her forearms, the toughness of elbow whorls. All while she is shedding her skin in the nighttime, soundless billows set aloft in dark as in day--unnoticed, unmourned.
Postscript to Juliet
@strongerthought
Katherine Mayerovitch
It is a good time to be star-crossed, those anxious moments just before fourteen, when nearsighted first-sighted love is still a matter of lifeworthy consideration. For those of us who survive the ordeal, it is bandaged tightly in cynicism or common shame. Unrequited, we become simply cross, and leave the heavens out of it.
http://strongerthought.wordpress.com
Angle of Descent fill your forearms with undressed breath, the weightless difference between wrists, fists or wings, between firm handfuls of profusion, fingers, tongues reflected in elongated stages, her movements linger, tracing an arc in the air, a thermal curve enclosing us with insistence, our limbs locked close, listening to limpid whispers: fluent breath offered in a flex and release of speech, attentive to the voice’s velocity, palms respond in wandering orbits over exhausted bodies, awake in a bed-shaped skin
D. G. Eng
@thehapacalypse
Ouroboros
This is not the end The night fell and the helicopters were chopping up the air like ice blocks cracking our hearts open and from them flowed tears We saw the cards were dealt and they spelled fears and then more fears and fire like bullets and police buses and voice that did not care to listen Listen It said your words are criminal and you will burn first in jail and then in hell and we will burn down your ghetto city and kill its men and sell its women and buy its children because the weak were not meant to survive according to the scientific principle But A snake was waking up in the gutter and slowly making its way through the city visiting all the dispossessed children, all the corners with liquor stores, and bushes with the homeless It took record of them all It shed its skin It bit its tail It knew when it all burns down The weak will rebuild the earth.
Sadrat’ul Muntaha
Sadrat ul-Muntaha is a lotus tree that marks the end of the seventh heaven, the boundary where no creation can pass, according to Islamic beliefs. According to Baha’i beliefs, Sadrat ul-Muntaha represents the Manifestation of God.
@thehoopoe
“We will set up our refugee camp at the border between all borders.” - @redjives I am an embodiment of fear I seek refuge in being a refugee I walk endlessly in the land of questions I destroy theories because I want to believe I burn money, so I can get lost among the towers of books But I rest beneath the shade of Sadrat’ul Muntaha I walk across the field of gold I find the tree that grows at the border between all borders, where all paths intersect It's there by the pool of speed by the pool of light frozen at the boiling point of time where moonlight is shining too fast and sunlight burning too slow It’s there where the rainbow sprouts from the ground It’s where it returns where it ends I’ll meet you there with a blank notebook under my arm and there we will write our stories I know there is no magic but this breath is magic I don’t know if I know love but I know love is the glue that keeps me together.
http://thehoopoe.tumblr.com
A redundant cycle My redundants; my redun dance; my red undance; myre dund ants. Her cosmogony undanced; my somnambulance. I've got rĂŞves up my sleeves; intergraphemes, heliacal symbologies. We undance a sidereal redundance. Weun dance aside real red undance. A dance in redundance. A dumb inredundance. Some adance in irredundance; I sung a dumb sun dance. We swum in a bundance, a bumbling remumblance. Amum we rumdance, the sum of a dvance. A way amongst the momwords! A must im mediates a nonverb; a medial somnambular has presupposed a modular maternal nonsnore. An amusing resumblance; a bruised represumption diffused the reduction. A some thing sum nothing, a confusedly sung cosmosophy. A mused astrogony. Redundant re membrance; a semblance assemblage sung an irreligious! I mumbled enough in an instance. In stead I must instruct irresistance. A rump. A ton of redone dance re moved a recussed cognizant. A thump begun by miscreants, percussive mysterians. A glance; a gusted mediate.
Philosophy's a sophist's trance I'd rather Her voluminance. A luminous voluptuess alludes a warming inundance. Again, a two knew to undance. Mapping Her univocalic trajectories... I'm playing electric guitar somewhere in the Maghreb. The West-in-itself is something oriental to me. The cartography of Her psychosomatic hypergraphy. I have a post- or nonwriting situation that's a symptom of this astrogony. O! the agony! Her vibragony above me and all celebrated neology! I lilt about Her structural typography; She follows me! I repeat materials ontologically. I miss the glyphs of listless noneternity; a ligature resolves our base duality. Her encyclopaedia's potentiality: my fragmentary imaginary!
Rod Naquin
@toastbeard
http://dadatraditionalist.blogspot.com
index of first lines A chill sets in, is made @lchakoian aching full moon, dripping sighs @aliaena Air in, air out of your sleeping sack of blood; @annanimh As I peel your layers I won't cry @is_isis bittersweet @aliaena Every word of yours is a hook into my flesh @is_isis fill your forearms @thahapacalypse fingertips trace empty cryptograms @redjives his right hand, a star, I'd never seen that before @aliaena I am an embodiement of fear @thehoopoe I ought not to have @sarainamerica i saw the best minds of my generation @redjives I think I will make paper pulp with my teeth @annanimh i thought of your teeth @sarainamerica I was born a bird @padycakes It always seems @shonankothari It is a good time to be star-crossed @strongerthought It is a subtle knowledge @strongerthought johnny get your gun @odiousrex Landless-- Set it in iron rod send to land @IlllllllllllllI Let's get to the center of it all @majda72 listen girl @rocking_g_real locked in the cells of our lives @is_isis Minneapolis is strong without me, always. @annanimh my first name's keishi @__n
@duncanbb My last night here & I lean into you @toastbeard My redundants; my redun dance; @odiousrex never speak our names @aliaena nights of black powder @lchakoian Poets aren’t born @strongerthought She is terrified of losing @odiousrex she turns his head sometimes we all need a little something @rocking_g_real @lchakoian Spilling all the wrongs @odiousrex sweet shaking girl @odiousrex sweet ophelia @aliaena the blanket of snow whispers below, @lchakoian The dying cope, like a body in pain @thehoopoe The night fell @strongerthought There is something uncouth that sings @benladen Tired intimacy @majda72 Waves break and scatter the birds @odiousrex we are sad in a pretty world @__n we live lives of concession @padycakes While you continue to ingest @avulpineheart yesterday in the shuk @annanimh You think I have a fat stomach @sarmust Your eyes sing like reeds @aliaena your grief, your defense
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