Watch, stranger. Keep vigil in the night. Witness as we fools conspire with our weather.
In twisting clouds of spirit-flesh
I imbibe without the swallow,
And hear his song in sunken breath,
Each fantasy to follow.
For body and air confess their cult
In temple halls to dwell--
Far, far gone away into the inner
Sanctum of the Vale.
Dwelling not in liminal
Prostration without sky,
But all-confounding, ever-mourning
Ecstasy to 'scry.
O’er waters black and boiling
I kiss the shrouding mist
And entreat her give me naught,
But teeth sunk into wrist.
For oddity is not so strange
To creatures such as we:
Philosophers and poets-errant,
Lost mystics of the Sea.
What stands between? I wager naught
But Nothing and nothing more.
That is the plight of glory bought
On strange abhorrent shore.
I lounge in waters dark and warm
And think I’m far away,
Yet I am just another phantom
Caught in electric decay.
I cannot see beyond this black,
Though I itch for shape or sound
To guarantee I’ll not dissolve,
Be left alone, nor found.
In The City...
Dear Magnificent Mofos:
What does a Bastard have in common with a Pearl, a Bottle, a Fire, and another writer with Implications? They each live and thrive in their neighborhoods, running their streets in the boroughs of Prose. and making their bones with words thrown down like no others. Watch them own their boulevards in today's feature on the channel:
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Bay Leaf Heir
My ribs are like a cluster of twigs
Snapped and fraying at the ends from the rain.
They hold a hatching egg at the center without a shell
A salivating blood-vial, unearthly even.
I think my fingers brush the edge of its tender face
Press the fear from its little lungs
Flick the crimson drops that grasp my skin
Onto the faces that look my way.
Why did you have to gaze into my eyes?
Why did you bear forth the strings of your soul
Like stories bound in a circle and caroused
From their tumult and frivolity?
Darling, the poor don’t see the ladder you climb.
Some of us don’t understand that when you throw
A brick, it hits somebody, somewhere, and bleeds
Even if you don’t smell it, feel it on your fingertips
Like her departing touch on my arm. See this
Sobriety. See my behavior and careful etiquette
Loosening my tie and untucking my shirt, I did not
See you, and I am sorry. I am indeed ashamed.
And yet I sleep while I drive and my feet and hands
Do the labor of my brain, so instead I can replay
The last word, the last time I looked upon your face
And wonder to myself if ever I shall see it again.
It would be a shame to have lost another before
I ever knew she was so near. Regret. It’s a heavy
Word. It’s a taunting syllable and another in the dirt
Roots and all upturned and cast back down
Like a mortuary stampede. Why is it touch that
Mocks my paucity of strength? Why not taste or
Scent, or even my eyes or my ears, why should this
Tactile trial so beguile me with every handshake
Every meeting of your eyes and mine and the flecks
Of blood I left on your face, unnoticed, but bright
In the light that is your stubbornness? Let me be
I beg of thee. Kiss me not with mouth or glance
Give me neither drink nor provender, but rather
A swift kick in the side, break the nest around my
Bleeding heart and let it fall to a poorly lit floor
To be returned to the dust from which it never
Should have come, to be interred without a word
I beg of thee. And yet you look at me, you
Stand near and keep your history engaged with
My gurgling throat, like a queen amongst the
Rabble of us lethargists and madmen, her hand
Outstretched in cautious contemplation, like a
Child, I suppose. Like a traveler in a new and
Different land. I’m not so pleasant though.
From the earth below your feet, you snatched
The shell-less egg before its fate fulfilled and
Gently offered it to me, with a tiny smile and
A world beyond my wounded grasp.
My ribs are like a cluster of twigs
Snapped and burnt and bundled back
Into a crude imitation of yours.
But your Before implores me take
A moment, just a thought, to place it back
Inside my pack until my lack of faculties
Could blaze within these youthful bones
And turn this leaden box to one of gold.