A leaping fire entered me.
It struck alight with each eye.
I wanted burningly nothing more
Nothing nothing more than something
Soft and warm like other human skin
To begin a prelude to a prologue
To a thick brown novel been loved.
To a leafed, winded and heart-heavy
Volume of body shifting architecture
In phrase by through crossed thought
Out phasing crack of the conscious
When it encounters conscience
Twin infants with wide wide eyes
Small curled star clusters with
Prophecies rolled and tucked into
A locket or their necks.
Month: July 2018
Here I’ve really overworked my physical heart. Not the metaphorical manifestation, but the one that has flesh and clumps, compresses and thumps not like a bird, but like the flaring flanks of a horse. The heat of their own selves steams them. As does my heart. The one in my body, the one charging my limbs and spinning my mind with its pulleys. I have heart palpitations which are harmless at best. I have left too many handprints on it, so that it now feels raw to the touch: the sticky red lollipop left on the rug. Hairs twanged all over. It’s disgusting, yes, you reacted correctly. But it’s my non-metaphorical face that you insult when you recoil. It is one in the same–If you didn’t want to feel its grime on your fingers you should have avoided this–A heavy lump, a warm and living spirit clustered like a dying star. It bleeds constellations out onto the desk. I made a print to hang on my forehead. How fucking stupid could I have been? Now what’s left: a scrap of torn paper nailed to my skull dead-center so everyone passing squints and then quickly looks away.
To be relentlessly strong and kind
Like melted glass flashed into stone,
An ancient alchemy, when
Breaks the cold water all over it.
How could my back be stacked
On the same grime the same grime
Would my ears be above water
When multitudinous, dread
spreads like coral beneath my feet.
I can erode.
I am unfortunately a sculptor.
I slipped and cut my own hand with
My own tool, and glanced over my shoulder
Just in time to see you chipped
And my world’s sky grew deep-sea nebulae.
The invention of music
After the pain
The stretching
Sore willow wood
At strained resin arias
Each violin cried
For a great truth
Break me gently
Be spilled your light this
song has been the companion
Of my soul for before I was born
Hushing followed like a quiet
A cracking home and the walls
Fall down to you bowed
Sentries silk and armor
Labor
Labor of my soul, lover
Of myself, go gently
Into glory, you spoke
Me into life.
One secret gentle in abundance
Explored me tender ‘til
I find myself a small surrender
A last memory framed
in grass and light where
Walks an angel savior of my silent
Soul, humble and old
Ancient friend, ahead of me
before.
A small crack
Into eternity render me
Oh most love, sweet ripe and life
And the pain of over beauty
And the bigness of heavens
The sounds in this sky and all skies
Jewels in and out of myself
Encrusting the very birth of
Every new possible
Every growth in light
The birth of lights and
Awe in everlasting
Everlasting
Everlasting
Last.
The majesty
Is
Always
Stars.
Ana Celeste Poetry 