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Literature Text
Your spine is a ladder, and she
braided it with flower crowns.
Her pressed-lace fingers coil tight
in the wet tangle of stems
as she climbs higher, kissing
the smooth bone with her toes.
She knew the only way
to your heart was through your mind,
but it's a mighty high ledge to reach
and her delicate palms just kept -
slipping.
So she braided your spine
with flower crowns to
keep her grounded, even as she
shinnied into the clouds.
braided it with flower crowns.
Her pressed-lace fingers coil tight
in the wet tangle of stems
as she climbs higher, kissing
the smooth bone with her toes.
She knew the only way
to your heart was through your mind,
but it's a mighty high ledge to reach
and her delicate palms just kept -
slipping.
So she braided your spine
with flower crowns to
keep her grounded, even as she
shinnied into the clouds.
Literature
here are my words
i used to dream whole cityscapes and skylines,
ocean cities and coves washed over with waves,
terrifying, brilliant, unable to touch me.
i used to be able to talk to trees,
to speak in palms and eyes-closed silences
and the sure roughness of bark under my fingernails.
i used to be able to sing
and believe that believing made me better,
believe that joy sounds bright and crescendos.
i used to be someone who tripped on her words,
spilled out in sloppy sentences and sentiments,
used to be someone who could 'sit at a typewriter and bleed'
and in bleeding turn the hurt beautiful.
i used to close my eyes and fall into feeling,
trace the right word
Literature
true lucky ones
in tempting death as much as they
yet even more we tested self
we drifted cars
got home from bars
avoided scars
true lucky ones
perhaps we're skilled
not having killed
ourselves
else anyone
oh who's to say
survival may
rule DNA
a family sum
or are we just
in randomness
the cosmos blessed
true lucky ones?
llp - dA - feb2017
DD - jun 09, 2017
Literature
Flagstones (Section 170 (7))
I went back to the secret
waterfall where once
we professed our love
and poured libations to the gods,
only the river had dried
to a trickle
and was choked
with leaves.
I stood there
alone
on the wide dry stones,
listening to the humbled
murmur of lost waters,
and realized
that when the river was gone
it became a road.
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Sometimes it's so hard to get on level with the people we love...
Written for Insecure-Writers weekly prompt
Written for Insecure-Writers weekly prompt
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The images you've chosen are gorgeous 