Tag Archives: Beauty

Childhood’s Wake

You can feel it in the air, a razory sheen, all the childhoods that were lost or stolen or seized or buried to model catacombs and secret lairs, are returning to the surface bigtime, the reclaimants growing new teeth and … Continue reading

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Burble

To pour, unrestrained, Beauty in her cups, and burbling fount, a lasting refrain.

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Love is Real, the Remix

I thought I knew a lot, explanations analyses profound conjectures nothing new under the sun stupid is as stupid does tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow marathon swims in the think tank and abstractions wrapped like leaden scarves and flags round my neck … Continue reading

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I See Myself

I always saw the humanity behind his thick-lidded eyes, the small child, begging for a banquet of golden crumbs to appease the motherache churning in his heart and stomach. A thousand lions pitted against a studded chainsmoking beergutted gladiator, I … Continue reading

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Conscripture

It is not me you are looking for, it is you. We dress and undress as mirrors, conscripting images to burn and cherish, to reveal and reflect the many sides of a lighted front, a sideways turn, modeling love in … Continue reading

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Orphan

The greatest lies I learned as a child seperated my soul from its choir, a violent breaching that took the littlest me to the far ends of my self, where I found, in dwelling, Beauty, untrammeled, opening her palm to … Continue reading

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Veil

So this is the mouth which has given lather and freight to scabbed pearls, this, the passage, where screaming daisies have weeded out spells of violence to sunder Beauty’s veil.  

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Jean Rhys

You held the islands in your eyes, where it rained and rained and then the sun warmed wet to a wafting hiss. This Jean, you, the feline slink, filigreed shock, and sinewy comb of whitelaced waves ruffling upon puttied blobs … Continue reading

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Anais Nin

Invention was your solitude, your twin, wasn’t it, Miss Nin? The way you spread secret pages like silk violet capes, like fringed shawls, over an air of mystery, and err of desire. You enabled symmetry, to confess. Why couldn’t a … Continue reading

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Morning

Scars worn out to fade, old records played in small hours– Dreams chased by morning.

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