I don’t remember how many
nights we swallowed the sky
just to spit it back up by morning,
but I do remember the way the stars burned
when they made their way back up our throats.
And maybe that’s why we could never
say ‘I love you’ at dawn
the way we could say it at midnight."
This Is Just To Say I’m a Zombie
I have eaten your scrumptious face, through
the plums of cheeks, juicy recollections
that were in your hippocampus. Remember Kool-Aid in
the icebox and how they rubied your lips? Of course you don’t
and which of us always will is, well, obvious. I’m guessing
you were probably thinking you were
saving time by crossing the graveyard to meet your mother
for breakfast at Marty’s Diner. She’s still waiting.
Forgive me if I devour her brain too. Those I’ve had already:
they were delicious and ripe with memories. I was
so sweet when I was human, way on the shy side,
and so cold to adventure. Look at me now: ravenous for experience.
The universe is my obsession:
the sea and the sun are
Let us read our stars and
discredit them. Sit beside me
here. Write me letters.
Let us neither one go first.
Will I be something?
Am I something?
And the answer comes:
You already are.
You always were.
And you still have time to be."
I read on a slip of paper at dinner tonight that
You must empty yourself before God may enter
so I emptied myself and found
the bottom of a lake bed
caked with sticky mud
next to a sign that said
do not swim."
By writing into what you don’t know, you allow your poem to invite readers who have followed you to discover new regions of their own minds and feelings, as well. Both you and the reader “rise” and “stagger(s) out” of the peony and come to understand that the unknown realms of imagination are filled with the abundance of wildness and calm, wilderness and home. The unknown realms of imagination are filled with alluring, invisible desires and strange dwellings."
The hours between 12am and 6am
have a funny habit of making you feel
like you’re either on top of the world,
or under it."
— Beau Taplin || the hours between.
This truth is prevalent:
what two colors have always been together?
Thirty unplanned crayon drawings of sky and grass
on classroom walls. There can be
no human without earth, nor love without language."