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Literature Text
i can't remember the last time i saw you.
instead, i trace your name
along my arm:
goosebumps like braille, raw
fingertips and
the soft side of my wrist
you've never touched.
i know me better than i know you
and i don't know me at all.
-
i can't remember the last time i spoke to you.
instead, i erased your number
from my phone:
i'll miss your static, my poor
reception and
pretending to have nothing to say.
you never guessed that i was penning novels
beneath my tongue.
-
what i do remember is
the last time i was whole:
my hand and yours
criss-crossed, entwined.
now i'm left with splintered palms and
ghosts between my fingers.
instead, i trace your name
along my arm:
goosebumps like braille, raw
fingertips and
the soft side of my wrist
you've never touched.
i know me better than i know you
and i don't know me at all.
-
i can't remember the last time i spoke to you.
instead, i erased your number
from my phone:
i'll miss your static, my poor
reception and
pretending to have nothing to say.
you never guessed that i was penning novels
beneath my tongue.
-
what i do remember is
the last time i was whole:
my hand and yours
criss-crossed, entwined.
now i'm left with splintered palms and
ghosts between my fingers.
Literature
Sight Less
Beneath all the beds in New York you'll find the musicians' dungeon. People constructed of more soul than they can hold sell bits of themselves for quarters and dimes. These claim no home other than the section of ground they occupy. Few passerbys take notice, as is the way with common rushers. Handfuls of tourists with pity in their very bones offer mercy in the form of one dollar bills. It's not a job one can hope to live off of. It's just barely enough to keep one from dying.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Helena stepped out of the subway car, tapping her fingers on her skirt. Sh
Literature
there's no right way anymore
i do not know why we do these things to each other.
our sentences lack all the proper meaning. we only say what we're feeling when we're feeling nothing at all and keep all the most important things we could ever think to say safe beneath guarded tongues. we are clever in all the wrong ways.
it's about how we do all the things we're expected to because to actually do what we want the most—the things that scare us—would mean having to take a risk. we might need to deal with the possibility that we have something to lose by doing nothing at all.
there is a complete certainty that we've gotten content in our loneliness—in our m
Literature
lose it
I loved you
as I am going to lose you:
steadily, and without artifice.
like the clearing of floodwaters.
like the healing of a wound.
there is something within me
that does not permit permanence,
something rancid inside
that slowly wears through—
I cannot keep. I lose. I lose.
but I am determined, this time,
to do it gracefully. to make it
into a skill that I can perfect,
a performance that commands awe,
a sideshow of precious things
slipping through my fingers.
somewhere, behind a curtain,
on a rickety platform
surrounded by strangers,
I am losing you
as I have loved you:
willingly, and without reservations.
with the depth of a
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It's really difficult to approach love poems in terms of 'cliche', considering just how many billions of love poems there are in the world, heh. But this one didn't make my eyes bleed, which puts it a notch above a great many others, so it has that going for it.
I see a couple of places where you've perhaps lapsed into overstatement - by which I mean, added stuff that actually deflates the stuff before it. The "I know me better.." lines, for example, are a bit 'telling not showing' prosey and dull compared with the impact of the wrist 'you've never touched' - which immediately shows me a hint to the nature of the relationship and makes me want to read on.
The 2nd strophe is pretty good, I liked the novellas under the tongue. My main problem is with strophe 3, which isn't as sharp and image-driven as what comes before it, sort of widdling off into wistfulness and in a not-very-interesting way - I did like the ghosty fingers, but feel that a bit of time and thought put into revising the entire section would really help bring this to a close the rest of the poem deserves. How to do that.. well, seems to me you've the skill to figure that out, but please accept my encouragement in that process as i think this is well worth the effort.
I see a couple of places where you've perhaps lapsed into overstatement - by which I mean, added stuff that actually deflates the stuff before it. The "I know me better.." lines, for example, are a bit 'telling not showing' prosey and dull compared with the impact of the wrist 'you've never touched' - which immediately shows me a hint to the nature of the relationship and makes me want to read on.
The 2nd strophe is pretty good, I liked the novellas under the tongue. My main problem is with strophe 3, which isn't as sharp and image-driven as what comes before it, sort of widdling off into wistfulness and in a not-very-interesting way - I did like the ghosty fingers, but feel that a bit of time and thought put into revising the entire section would really help bring this to a close the rest of the poem deserves. How to do that.. well, seems to me you've the skill to figure that out, but please accept my encouragement in that process as i think this is well worth the effort.