PolarAnemone

Morning lemonade Left caramelized sunshine Melting on my lips.

i. some friends will help you spread your wings. they will cheer as they watch you soar. never once will they see you as icarus heading to his death. those are the ones you keep. others will rip out your wings to replace them with ones of wood, feathers, and wax. they will shove you up - up into the sky and laugh as your erupt into flames. leave them to burn themselves. save yourself from getting scorched. ii. the invisible girl will force herself to be seen. it will begin when she strips herself down. the vulnerabilities will shine through. show off every scar, every crack. she will then dye herself with her true colors. blend in pi

here again i name myself an elegy for soft. the ghosts unstitching their mouths– impossible inevitable inconsequence. the remainder. the echo. the wake. pared to the bone, marrow unraveled; a web of stars racked to the machine. soft; you dead dreamweaver. threaded-needle-tongue. here again this slingshot orbit cups an untouched moon. claim yourself new. become untouchable. you remember: this reassembly, this reinvention of choice. become a fist pressed to the apex. cut the compass out of your mouth. soft; unspeak yourself again. you remember: this funeral sacrament of a stopgap creed, vacant planet unspun to wire– clear th

. . . . . . . . you . . . . . . . (dot) There's a dot on the spot where we used to talk and laugh . . . . . . . . . . (dot) There's a dot on the spot we decided to stop and chose to take different paths . . . . (dot) There are dots trailing behind my back, they follow my moves, my steps, my tracks . . . . . . . . . . . . . (dot) I decide to follow the dots and they all lead me back to our spot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (dot) these dots they all lead me back to . . . . . . you . . . . .

Oh my Social Butterfly, Choose thy flowers Wisely.

Silver light upon the sea Sharp as scales, they slit the Morning sun open - Like a yolk it bleeds, ichor Spilled thoughtlessly; Smearing the fish belly white Morning with a splatter of life. Golden light upon the sea Warm as palms, they stroke the Turbulent blue - Like a cat it purrs, star-chilled waves Licking shores; Tabby pelt flecked with shell white And the gulls sing once more.

When I was young and knew nothing, the sound of my mother lulled me to sleep; she would sing, her voice a rising wave of something more than I could know, filled with a crashing sort of love that killed just as it would kiss. There is always a pressure that builds behind closed doors - it is a silent command testing natural boundaries and it has no name nor sound but it is so easily felt in the houses of those who sleep with no homes but the ones they find in the dark. And sometimes, when the sun blinks and the moon asks for a crashing kiss, when homes open their doors, I wonder if black holes are closer than we think—that the sky is

I've fled to the eastern horizon, shedding my western lifestyle, caught beneath Atlantic waves, --homeless, without childhood roots, latched across a continental war. My old life, left to drown in the Atlantic waters Carries a story of who I was on the other side, Though that story and its protagonist are a closed book Which I've left to sink in order to begin a new tale. As pen caresses blackened parchment, I’m branded by my misfortunate past, blackberry blue bruises from forgotten faces, and I’m drowning, swallowing salted memories, carving a new hope from seashells and sand. The ghosts of those haunting faces from across the

this small coal town, beats to the rhythm, train tracks, smoke stacks, gray sky-lined memories, the pulse livens, our lungs swell, two hearts, one hum, overtaking the streets, miles away from this moment, yet it's easy to remember, the stars falling down, the ground caving in, and swallowing. i've always hated this place, the dust and rumble, the tea-pot whistle, the black mine-sweeps, i've swallowed enough smoke, to drown in another's anxiety, misgotten fears blown away, taking root in my veins, the heart of the city, broils with regret, or maybe that's just me. either way, i'm ten thousand feet, below the surface, beneath us, grapplin