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onymous - astoic minded, red eyedonymous - a by Vacantia
antipathy in all corners
bitter blood, salted lips
puckering with the acrid air
dull edge against thick skin
with no way in
these thin walls keep what's inside
and inside I will watch
with all four eyes.
. Traumstrecken .. Traumstrecken .. Traumstrecken . by Amanda-Graham
. envelopes .
some came with photographs
in company thin stretched words
drawn from her elegant hands
last came folded round
parchment lily gone tea brown
. uninvited dancer .
@ scarville How does a ribcage protect a heart that's a sea.
@ blondeonhorse the sparse constraints, etched in scrimshaw legends of her days
@ scarville What does beauty look like in the eyes of the blind.
@ blondeonhorse the slick wet curvature bent her; his ears and mouth warmed to her temperature
@ scarville My breath was always meant to be taken away.
@ blondeonhorse she'd held it all her life, when released the typhoon carried her off
@ scarville Your lips on mine is the poetry of silence.
@ blondeonhorse that first touch in soft warmth and cherry; our sibilance, later, with deeper secrets
there is gravity in it
. tryst .. tryst .. tryst . by Amanda-Graham
. tickle .
it'd been some random act
a moment's urge
from someone else’s playlist
that's all it was
. buss .
‘... no room left on the table; that piece of paper where i'd jotted the note about the woman on the bus quoting Dovlatov in Russian gone ... my unpaid bills flapping sightless on the deck woods, won't unfold the futon, staying awake or lie among featherless wings ...’ Does any man really understand? See or hear as they carelessly put their feet down? Witness to their un-owned lack of caution at every intersection?
The woman speaking on the bus had turned to her companion, the day warm she’d admitted to her friend that she’d bought a short-sleeved top to endure the hurried heat. Then suddenly the words in Russian, on this now to me foreign soil; I lurched to hold my sliding packages. My mind linked to that sentiment she spared
. memes to dismember me with .. memes to dismember me with .. memes to dismember me with . by Amanda-Graham
We want to know who we are, and alone, we find no answers. We turn to the eyes of others inquiring, "Do you know me?" At times we suffer their silences. Much later, in those moments where endings are being approached, we wonder, ‘Was it what they saw of me?’ or ‘Had I made other choices, at some point earlier on, would this moment have been avoided?’
Our meanings, seeing ourselves, occur only as echoes. The sound of footsteps in dark alleys, in Marseille perhaps, where I was uncertain in my language, so involved in thinking that I missed what it was she said softly. I caught only the words "... your beauty is too subtle." These years later, it's come upon me that that was her goodbye and I'd been damned by looking with microscopes at what I thought I was seen as, and that she'd seen what I truly was.
Our minds are flavored by all of the accumulated histori