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Literature Text
I don't think that the moon
wanted to be
the moon
imagine a hot rock
released to its own path
by a collision
explosion
or monumental
fission fusion of creation
taking pace
among the stars
free
only soon
a sun with planets
slowly pulls
cajoles
this liberated
piece of travel-rounded
mass
into a steady orbit
of obligations
light the night
guide the ships
pull the tides
make us wonder
let the wolves howl
night after night
repetitive
circling
wondering
about its freedom
Literature
Shy moon,
i've got love carved into honeysuckle wrists,
a murder of crows in my throat,
& a pack of wolves at my back.
i want to know truths behind these myth eyes, &
the distant galaxies under your fingertips.
but, love me. love me, Love.
show me what's beyond Grimm fairy tales
& scars.
spare me your ribs;
this skyscraper heart
needs a place to go.
Literature
myths and the things that really matter
in a season of wavering will
and ripe regret, I was born
too old - into a fragile world
of butterfly feathers and
springtime secrets, tied tenderly
around hollow hallucinations and
carefully called a "dream"
they promise you things
when you are too young to
understand the monsters under
your bed are really fragments
of you, left to disintegrate
in the dark. they say: you
will touch the world, you will
know the stars by name, you
will be our deliverance from
all the things we were not
you will be strong.
but they don't know, no,
I am a yard sale:
I sold my heart to a boy
with lilting lies and eyes
that looked human
Literature
Constellation
She is dream dust,
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
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Well done 