Part two,
You tilt your chin to the singing sun.
Brazenly trudging like the vandal you are
To Middle-ground, bestial, bruised,
Mushrooms ringing your ankles
Like minnows. Thunderstruck,
Bucks started, tagged your black eyes femme macabre,
Receding like seeds from you, Queen of der hexenkries
Nigh woman or girl, but hellion with breasts.
Because clearly you’re Hera
Fair Contessa reigning Amazons
Weaving their pleats with perfume and barbs.
Poetry
Did you know your
Inner words your
swirling sentences
That they can
they can
steam up
steam up your sockets
That they can light up
You
And that
You
can be
The light in the room
In lieu of power and
Rage
Or for exploding:
Love and shout
A toast to self
Just the beautiful Your
Reality
Of that
Which is humanly
And truly
ocean-deep,
It draws jeers
And tears all the same-
did you know
that
Number one.
Get loose. Shake your shoulders out. Your shoulders fall out. Weightless.
Number two.
Breathe through yourself. Breathe to flay your lungs open.
Number three.
Poise.
Number four.
You can crack your ephemeral knuckles because you are now transcendent. Nothing touches you, not even constraints.
my spine might slide out
if I don’t sit up straight enough.
And yes, I am tired, thanks for asking; the bags under my eyes are nearly purpling like orchids. All the vapor has left my body so that I’m a collection of drolling and hiccups and slurred laughter, drunk on my own exhaustion.
I wish at times to be the stinkbug sitting on a leaf of my succulent plant who, in the course of two days, has changed from facing north to facing south.
Ana Celeste Poetry 