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Hunting CoyotesHunting Coyotes

Footfall of a frost-faced hunter
heavy with a winter kind of hope;

Moon-eyed, taut-eared,
one paw raised above the stream.

You thought I would shatter with the sharp bark
of the gun, but moonlight still sparkles
in a spray of wet pearls along my sides.

I am cold teeth, I am the blood-stopping stare. Neighborstake off your shoes.

hang your jacket.
you hold something,
a gift from some other time.

you've entered this room.

you know the time,
the oldest object in the room.

you look away.

you listen for your name.

you will find a shirt.
you will find a shirt.
you will find a shirt.
you will find a shirt.

you will put on a shirt tomorrow.
most days.
you know the time.
the oldest object in the room.

you look away.
someone will bring food.
someone will say your name.
you will hear your name and you won't.

put your shoes on.
you will exit this room.:thumb692375161:
On this, I will not compromise.I miss being quiet,
but only sometimes.
I am louder now,
voice carrying over;
unapologetic for existing.

It is when I am alone
that I think,
I am too loud.
Too malicious,
more wicked than kind.

I remind myself I can
be gentle, but I must survive.
And, at times,
kindness is being cruel. PropitiateAnother cycle we have
worked interlacing willow
branches, gathered from green
river banks, into the design
which we were

knit. With anxious hands
we place the harvest’s
best in the tangled chest
below our swaddled promise,
which we leave the Spirits

to name. In the darkness
of the New Moon we burn
our offerings to glowing ash
so the Gods might smile
on a better reaping of our youth,

our future. Praying with
wooden bones and sacred fires.
divinity between teeth of a stormcloudone
meet me at the railways. we are
running towards god. the ribbons in your hair
-ceaseless- trailing into sunset blurs and
our ticket picking fingers knot and nestle
as i hold your hand

and we leave

two
i learn from him
that you can be full of love
& yet
still be toxic.

when my world is falling apart,
he lets me collapse into him.

when i talk about suicide,
he laughs, nervous
as though he didn’t understand

that maybe i stopped taking those kind of meds

a long time ago

three The world is a paragon.the story always ends at the carfax,
lost in translation, somewhere in the barathrum of the world
like dragon tongues, blundering in the darkness
waiting for purity to light them aflame once more;
diaglyphs lay scattered on my chamber floor,
scented with the oils of lilies and mountain waters
depicting the emergence of all life, scrawled in gold and jewels -
patrons always seemed to discard the thought of nature
and her intimate beauty that surrounds us every day:
what need is there for gold when the rosy light of the sun
soaks the plains more thoroughly than the monsoon rains,
oxygen cutslearn to breathe

make this diminutive chemistry
your own brand of branched out
mindmap-mad sorta life

carve those crescent moons
against this morning's car troubles
& your forgotten umbrella
and add some CO2
to the O3 painting the pavement underneath you

oxygen will cut your throat
and coat your cells and sell you out
inside, out & ever snarling
but darling dear this fear

it's called breathing

heating your atmosphere
bleeding unnoticed understood
& underfoot again(st)

scraping & shaping
Doused with Bleach - Colors I Dare to DreamFrequently I dream,
of indigo blue
or viridian green
bright canary yellow
and a simmering auburn orange
blazing trails from the beginning
where thick tresses part,
curls unfurl, revealing
newer snippets of hues,
they bounce, playing peek-a-boo-
alas this only a dream.

I did the deed once,
I braved that rotating chair,
and hours ticked by as I sat
biding my time, we talked nonsense
her and I, while she mixed
the palette of my dreams
like a savvy bartender of dyes.

I ignored the silent screech,
of a thousand hairs dying,
drying, and wilting of color,
under a thick brush of bleach,
the smell, so blinding
I had to teach myself to breathe.

Hour ThemiscyraIn this land there are no fathers
or younger brothers born from mothers’
weary wombs to pass male labels
on women’s bloody, fleshy labor.

In this land little girls aren’t told
they’ll have to play supporting roles
or given molds made of men’s desires
to choose from or invoke world’s ire.

In this land females are free
to live just how we want to be
a society without oppression
where our destiny is not concession. Ode to a Girl from SwanseaPretty Welsh girl, with the Titian hair and
long legs, the secret voice and virescent
eyes: you strike a resemblance to the
goddess of the oak-flowers baptised in
a vernal meadow, beckoning those who
would chant and proclaim your mysteries to
your side as you slide from the slippery
stones to drift back into the bosky wood.

Last Tuesday, when the rain faded away, I
caught you unawares as you brushed your flaming
locks by the sea-wall. Worshippers absent, the
clouds retreated slowly and your Sun shone in
full victory: it was in that light that
I could glimpse you as you are, not as you wish
to be, not as your devotees cast you,
and in that go
Try with me? 0.

I write poetry
To solve a problem I know
Has no solution

i.

I just wonder what
The actual problem is –
Is it you? Me? Us?

ii.

Is it your silence?
Uncertainty in the flesh,
Can I count on you?

iii.

Or perhaps it’s me –
My deep insecurity
And longing for more

iv.

Maybe it’s nothing
But normal trifles of love;
Conflicting viewpoints

v.

I write poetry
To solve a problem I know
Needs us both trying Fire OpalPiercing rays of light,
Bathes the trees in a pink glow.
A sudden rainbow. womeni remember noticing your breasts
how they were larger than mine
how i imagined my hands fitting over them
or if they could fit over them ;
i remember asking myself if this is what lust is
if the memory of your hair smelling like clean sheets
and cheap conditioner
if that was enough to convince me i was falling for you ;
i had never kissed a woman before you—
before you I was wrapped up in used condoms
and masculinities as fragile as my words
now i’m wrapped up in you and when and if and how i can touch you ;
i'm wrapped up in you
an
Mrs Peacock in the Billiard Room I had arrived fashionably late, as per usual. Stepping out of the carriage, I let my dress fall to the ground, being careful not to dirty its hem. As I meandered up the stairs the door let out a soft creak. It was ajar. I would have frowned if I cared to deepen the already delicate wrinkles forming on my otherwise smooth face. Although usually in some sort of rush, Mr. Black was not the sort to carelessly leave doors open.
Pushing the door open revealed an empty entry way. Strange, I thought to myself. I could have sworn that everyone else had arrived already. I pulled my jade cigarette holder, an expensive pack of smokes, and a genu:thumb687701480:
Ruin by ProxyIn another life, Jackson Illerioum IIX had prided himself on his ability to bring about ruin by proxy. The vast majority of his corporate takedowns were an intricate dance of untraceable entrapment: a dollar here, a whisper there, and when his prey shook hands on a deal they shouldn’t have, his digital eyes recorded their folly and sealed their fate. The court hearings often declared these to be coincidence: a camera left running past when it should’ve shut off, a cell phone on the desk recording audio. Nevertheless, in the simplistic judicial grace of the Glowing City’s sacred upper half, such evidence was more than suffici

Mature Content

To Love A WriterIn silence my mind weaves the picture of all that I feel inside, my lips fail me and my voice falters. Forgive me.

I always thought that once I found someone who could love me, for my flaws and the darkness I always believed lived inside me, then I could be happy, I could open up my soul and show all I am; and that I would be understood. I was mistaken.

I still hit the same road block that I have always had; my heart is more than an organ that pumps blood through my body, it is my core, the center of who I am. It feels as though it comprises every organ between my throat and my pelvis, and radiates throughout what’s left of me. Once

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