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Literature
Aideen
Aideen wasn’t anything like me. Stubborn as ever, she’d insist
saying something about an inferno in her flesh,
a savage electricity sparking in her skeleton.
For weeks she’d persist, sprawling across the kitchen floor in hysterics.
She kept muttering about bullets, something about gunpowder lungs
and inevitable ignition.
And all I could do was sit and soothe her, attempt to expunge these imagined notions from her mind. But stubborn little Aideen rejected my words as folly, retching out words like shrapnel and shellshock.
“Gasoline. Unpredictability tensed between my tissues.
Napalm slithers thro
Literature
in your mind
in your mind
I have written no poems
since I left you,
met no one else
who could spin my heart
into twine
with the merest turn
of her voice.
in your mind
I have no soul left to conquer;
I have taken no liberties with
the body you kept
waiting pale and virginal
on your mantel.
in your mind
I am not a person
but a photograph,
grainy and irresolute—
a daguerreotype capture
of who I was the last time I was yours.
and don't you understand that
this is why I cannot love you?
Literature
somnia
there is a lens
through which I devour
sleep,
sweltering, stained-glass
condensation;
a glass and a capsule
and a mouth
like a shipwreck.
nectarous vibrations
from a small pink tablet
are honeyish and taste
like dawn
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