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bel1e
Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631


0 posted 2012-02-14 02:18 PM



1. begin with lipstick; burn it to its raw ends, beauty is after all, the new black.

2. I am a verb written upon a vellum marquis, four letters beneath an aluminum moon, savior of night jars and fireflies.

3. the scar at my breast is a fire-glass hummingbird, a sweet diminishing of Sunday school hymns set in stone to melt scarlet as a heart, from the honey of even such imperfect love, as ours.

4. just below the collarbone, puckered and shaped like the body of a dragonfly, the stitches used to be uneven lines, and held the shadow of wings.

5. bones, they say were once used as paper…difficult, I’d imagine, to inscribe, as it may have involved fractures and the secret architecture of insinuation, beneath the glass, I shudder, my frame made strange, gold-tipped and dangerously askew.

6. the young girl dreams of grasshoppers and the phosphorescent sound of swiftly beating wings; she dreams he is drowning and the spinning goes on and on, a nightlight.

7. your presence here is pure accident; dodging, the barometer was wrong, it promised grey and wet…heavy skies, instead.

8. early soothsayers threw dice made of the heel bones of hooved animals, like antelope or lamb; so languid in repose, the spirit learns to relinquish itself and lizards free-fall to the ground as bells’ tongues rend the Angelus.

9. at noon, I scan the skies for rain and omen birds carry the fear of avian flu; pupae in glass jars, and I squirm into my blue jeans.

10. divination is the art of reading the future, a blue horizon dissolves like tissue in the distance, from the dark ocean bed, a ribcage emerges, an emaciated archive, all the gaps between; the missing years that must be filled-in by hand, under the glow cast by a tasseled lamp over a séance table.

11. cerise, the color of death will surprise the waxwing still carrying a warning in its beak.

12. on Wednesday mornings, I’ll name my daughters obscure, reservoir, ghostweed, and sew them dresses from the sand, and bind their books from dried cuttlebone burnishing the spine that promises, in time, to crack fully open.

13. some nights the dove of sleep lays its own head upon its down indigo breast and cries for release.

14. the dream remains, a stolen Valentine, alights like a pigeon behind window bars made of chrome integers and glass,  red constellations like scars embedded in the vertebrae, gooseflesh in beveled chains.






                  

© Copyright 2012 babygirLPress - All Rights Reserved
Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666
California
1 posted 2012-02-14 03:19 PM


You know I could sit back and read you ceaselessly... Till I slipped unconsious in the chair.  Like the black lipstick and especially the part about inscription on bones.  I think for some of us, that inscription takes place while we're still living.  Happy Valentine's to you.

Michael

bel1e
Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631

2 posted 2012-02-14 06:35 PM


Hey Michael~

Thanks for the great reply...and for putting up with my lunacy!  It is greatly appreciated!

Happy Valentine's Day to you too!

              

JL
Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128
Texas, USA
3 posted 2012-02-14 07:27 PM


“12. on Wednesday mornings, I’ll name my daughters obscure, reservoir, ghostweed, and sew them dresses from the sand, and bind their books from dried cuttlebone burnishing the spine that promises, in time, to crack fully open.

13. some nights the dove of sleep lays its own head upon its down indigo breast and cries for release.

14. the dream remains, a stolen Valentine, alights like a pigeon behind window bars made of chrome integers and glass,  red constellations like scars embedded in the vertebrae, gooseflesh in beveled chains.”

BG:
It is most obvious this is not lunacy, but if someone can prove it is,
then I want some too.  This is a masterpiece and should be put to canvas.
You have a distinct technique of writing in a way that can produce
neuron stimulation from eye to brain.  The brain process slows to absorb
then tells the eyes to go back and read again.  
Now I understand that song title:
“Hungry Eyes” Love this write of yours, especially 12. To 14. But you had me at “1.”

Happy Valentine's Day to you!!



JL

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul,and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself.
Maranatha!

bel1e
Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631

4 posted 2012-02-14 08:11 PM


JL...

Thank you for such a moving reply....that any of this touches you...moves in you....somehow....is my ultimate goal....for sharing...  I mean...I write because I have to...it's the only way I know how to breathe....but I post it...hoping somewhere someone will read it and be just as moved....thanks, luv...have a wonderful Valentine's evening!

Xoxo

              

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
5 posted 2012-02-14 09:55 PM


Not only the poem,
but all of this post,
is pure BG.

Your replies
show that you really are
something other than how
you write...

and the comments...I always enjoy
reading the comments you reap.

I agree with them all.


bel1e
Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631

6 posted 2012-02-14 10:38 PM


Sunshine~*~

Thank you dear lady~*~*~

XOXO

              

ice
Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404
Pennsylvania
7 posted 2012-02-15 09:07 AM


This reminds me, for some reason?, of the anachist cookbook, in some ways..
Perhaps controversial like the original text.
But filled with self truths...in word explanations.
But sometime anarchy is the only way to provide self protection,
from the selfishness of others.

A poem of inward examination, written in fine english phrases, by one who has command of the language....:-)

[This message has been edited by ice (02-15-2012 10:11 AM).]

bel1e
Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631

8 posted 2012-02-15 09:59 AM


quote:
But sometime anarch is the only way to provide self protection,
from the selfishness of others.


self preservation is an art form I am yet seeking to master, iceman...

Thanks for your encouragement, luv~*~

              

Dark Stranger
Member Patricius
since 2001-03-19
Posts 13631
West Coast
9 posted 2012-02-15 11:35 AM


BBBel1e, I would send you roses to press between your breasts, and bandaids for the thorn prick tattoos after...but I would always send you roses to press between your breasts.

Enjoyed your penseam as always daughter...

bel1e
Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631

10 posted 2012-02-15 01:09 PM


~*~dark sweet kisses~*~daddy~*~*~

XOXO

              

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