November 2011
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After All This | Richard Jackson
After all this love, after the birds rip like scissors
through the morning sky, after we leave, when the empty
bed appears like a collapsed galaxy, or the wake of
disturbed air behind a plane, after that, as the wind turns
to stone, as the leaves shriek, you are still breathing
inside my own breath. The lighthouse on the far point
still sweeps away the darkness with the brush of an arm.
...
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Canvas | Dylan Ravenfox
An old girlfriend would always write on my skin,
in blue or black ink. We both knew she was destined
to be a tattoo artist, though she never would admit it.
Little yin-yangs, tulips, messages like why
are you so nervous, or decisive, or spontaneous.
I let her write a poem down my spine
with a sharp black ball point,
and never found out what it said. It used to tickle
so much that she would...
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(The Best Worst Day, 2011)
Suddenly, everything was saved.
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322/ of hearing (Part of the series "On the sudden... →
There are days we don’t hear each other very well and there are days when we simply don’t listen. I am used to the depth of silences, the wordless comfort in nods and gazes sent wistfully from across a room. You, you are a clatter of praise, a clamouring for attention resounding like the days we’ve agreed not to count but have counted anyway. When I think of you, I hear the happiness of childhood....
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Ambition | Loren Goodman
When music moves away From dance, atrophy sets in When poetry moves away From music, atrophy sets in I want one of those Trophies
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