begins his long march
which is a trespass
across strange earth.
of the foreigners
to whom he is the foreigner
are silken whistles
which he misses.
This is a long march.
This is a strange earth.
I am my own stranger.
LiminalityIf I believe in GodLiminality by ashellessmind
he sends me
wings from his stomach’s
& allows me to limn sublimity.
Or if each is living oblivious
I’ll wake in fright
& limn the flightlessness
of that night’s
AmpersandsThis quiet night I rescindAmpersands by ashellessmind
belief in ampersands.
Their patient meaning
collapses from forceful impatience.
Make an allowance for all
virtuosity to conclude.
Single nouns must now be governed
by single adjectives.
A reflection of my own singleness,
a reflection upon my own lack of governance.
Their meaning of unity I have reproved.
Their meaning of incessance I have begged to cease.
Please, let there be no remnant to be found remaining.
Please, let there be no more anymore.
Of endings, I foresee only one:
a period upon a too long period
a plague upon a man who couldn't wait.
Tracking RainThe insinuation of soft salt-rose-petaledTracking Rain by ashellessmind
rain pelting the window whistles
into these too changeable ears until 24 years,
seized with overbearing yearning, pour
into a single glass. The year I became Christian,
which is the year you drowned me
in a reign of love, whisks castaway
among a torrent of lingering & malingering
& my engulfment is recast
as you lifting me dripping to the surface.
Soon the self I had perceived hardly seems to be,
but for a faint rattling like that of train
tracks being racked upon my brainwaves
& although stronger metallurgy leads to more
pristine machinery, so does the warping
of the rack lead to both a wandering from
& wonderment at a rainy day's brilliant
ability to diffuse.
Rape WordsURape Words by ashellessmind
can’t write no poems
outta rape words
get inside yo mouth
& won’t let ne good thing come out
push inside yo mind
& suck yo thoughts dry
press against yo chest
& suffocate w/e
wantz 2 b expressd
swim around inside ya
curse ya shove ya blind ya
cry cry cry cry
quiltworkquiltwork by sanguru
we have missed
hundreds of sunsets
as if blind--
i never really could see them
until love found my heart.
and now all i do
is watch the sky
and the gentle morph of the clouds
from white to red to pink
i look to the stars
and i can only hope
you are looking at them
right now, at this moment.
if i could, i would catch them
to light your way home.