syrinxstep now into the vanishing pool. turn up alive and writhing under some other stone, some other riverbank flush with reeds. bone-lyre tuning itself in the ripening swell of moonlight; i am picking my strings in time with its breathing, that week-long lunar inhale, then out again, a single smallening lung.syrinx by i-am-a-bridgewalker
remembering prayer, that salty thing on my lips as i bent to kiss the sea. make me different; if i am to survive this, make me different. i will leave my skin to curl on this shore before i will learn to call it by any other name. and the tide bent its heavy legs over mine and whispered lover, i will carry you, carry you just far enough. i remember that first kind of walking, ankles slow through the silted wash. moon in my teeth and sand in my hair and hurting beautiful, hurting beautiful. even here, face down in the mud among these drying rushes, you are walking over my strings as i sleep. that pacing music, that pacing moon. those cruel names written in sand, and you a
ZemiThings having to be returned to their transparency:Zemi by archelyxs
/ green mist-earth / knit
atmosphere / fathomless
blue-lavender / lights
spun out from light
are recalcitrance / and you
& - a fingernail of summer
- a melting of rain
- a crown of flowers
- a priest of sunsets
(beautiful? I love you, because. Zemi.
Zemi. are you beautiful because I love
you? Zemi? )
I imagine this is what it's like to breathe sea foam
over the Cliffs of Moher: hydration. absolution.
To Rilke, it's a melody that floods over us
when we have forgotten how to listen for it.
I never could forget this: for how could I know
my hand as both well and chasm? and how could I know
time, a windstruck dimension, standing in her white street?
We go on morning walks and Zemi
laughs at everything I say.
Current Residence: from desert to desert, currently New Mexico|
Favourite photographer: i like hands.
Favourite style of art: unpredictable
Operating System: I lie here and there.
Shell of choice: armor
Mode of transportation: dancing
Personal Quote: The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes. ~Andre Gide