/lit/ - Literature

>>1966668
mm dig your get as well.


46.
Where light reflects—
Refracts in epileptic flashes
Off a sleeping swimming pool
As a plane of floating spinning flecks;
You are bones in a weather-worn
Folding chair of torn—
Tearing fabric on an aluminum frame
Forming geometric lines
Obscured— absent of— sun-light
Laying restless on the paved walk—
Of pressed pebbles into cement blocks.
You are styrofoam goose bumps in the breeze
And pressing bony fingertips to skull
Never enough empty and never full
Looking for patterns in the pool
Some order in its undulating morse
Morose, more S-O-S or vegetablehuman drool
You reach down, empty ash into
An ageless aluminum cylinder symbol
Branded red and red and Coca-Cola
Wrinkled dead and dented— America
While you, having drawn in breathy fog,
Wait for fog to make you whole

critique my shit as shit poem

Same dust I’d let
(A night before)
Crawl-a-cross my
Cottond stomach
As I held—
My breath

But tonight, she is
Performing death
Colliding with inky
Purple walls—
Wings aflutter, falls
Falling dust to the floor

I hear her
Sit and listen
Then,
She as a tennis ball,
Ricocheting unglisten

Dull in dark
Paused— unregular, rests.
In myopic protests
Starts again
To beat her head against a wall
Looking for an incandescent ball

>>1719300
Heather speckled grey/

Tile floor. Like/

Some compelling sway—/

Swaying song/

Playing on. They,/

These grey or purple flecks/

Under dirty glow/

Reflection coming slow/

Ticking fluorescent, marks/

Off a red time. Flow/

Or flows toward some/

Violet fenestrative glow/

6.

we see ourselves, mainly/

on the faces of others/

and far less correctly/

in vanity mirrors/


7.

Sun-scorch’d, floated down/

It settled on the window/

Of my parked car/

Thought it strange, this being the third month/

Its veins stretched toward a spade-like edge/

A gust or breeze, it turned over,/

slid down/

Its wound, in four, dark brown/

Her body, still illuminated, gold and green/

By her killer and me/