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Literature Text
I want to be the folklore
told to spook girlfriends
over a campfire of s'more
premonitions than apparitions;
as the old husband's tale goes,
it took an entire steak through
my stomach to drowse me.
told to spook girlfriends
over a campfire of s'more
premonitions than apparitions;
as the old husband's tale goes,
it took an entire steak through
my stomach to drowse me.
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
Endless
Memories so visceral
I can still taste them,
like the salty sweet wash of your skin
after a slow morning run
in the dancing summer rain.
Eyes a shade of amber,
golden flakes glowing in the warmth
of a crackling fire,
your lips parted like an envelope
I'm aching to seal.
Words whispered silently,
a tender glance exchanged,
an undulation of emotion,
a burst of color and a blast of light,
two lone figures unite.
Hands in the dirt,
knees in the slushing mud,
battle weary and fatigued,
I trudge step by step
toward the peak of this moment,
a banner raised,
emblazoned with your name.
For I'd rather die on the hill,
swathed in the regalia of my d
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
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Written 8/18/2015
Part of the Bitlets project.
Bitlets 423 © 2015 Nic Swaner
Part of the Bitlets project.
Bitlets are about quantity, not quality. Free-write at least one a day about what is on your mind, going on around you, or the state of your life. Ignore the urge to edit; it's not about being profound on purpose, it's about stumbling on it by accident.About this Bitlet
This is a bit old-fashioned, but I like it.Browse Bitlets
Bitlets 423 © 2015 Nic Swaner
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"...and then he woke up within the hour, asking if he could have second servings!"