I hear my heavy pulse like “rum,” like a thunder debate.
And of course, I smoke. I smoke thickly with my feet crossed,
Linoleum floors, creaking old dogs pacing ruts in the floor
Click the beat of the clock, of my thrum confused by
Its question: how did I get to sitting on this floor,
In the half-dark, with myself and a small glass and other heads,
A dog, a hand over mine like a prayer for a quilt being
Answered and since I smell like bonfire,
And there are not nine cinders in my hair like a
Tarot, Pentacles,
The Devil
The devil isn’t in a clean white bed at the top of the stairs
room down, In this empty house we cluster,
dogs digging trenches and jewels glowing through the floor.
Tag: poetry
How to: Solace
Speak lovingness.
Speak the essence of the
Smell post-cry
When the head
Fills with muck
Then is suddenly
Drained.
Speak the feeling of
Shaking the tears
From his salty hair
With your combed
Hand, while
They gush and
They gush and
Push out their
Spirit
Through every
Orifice.
Day 2: my veins are now vines. There’s been another security breech in which my capillaries have shed like snakes and are now webbed rhizomes. It had, all along, been a conspiracy of spores. My wrists suddenly shone green while I wrote, photosynthesizing at 3pm. A hand jerked to my head to check if there were leaves and there weren’t; I breathed and let my vascular neurons pollinate, microscopic blossoms bursting with every fired synapse behind my eyes. The vines filling up my casing stopped. But, at that point, I found I wanted them to burst from under my fingernails and take up the pen for me; they never did. Nor did the bees stick-and-poke words on the wall or my skin yesterday to help me decipher any code.
Planetarium
You can feel yourself slowly emerging.
The yawning embryonic dinosaur step.
Blink. Ventilate. Eyelash away
the eggshell snow
from the face.
Blink. Blink Crack the knees tap the
spine stretch longer the tap, the
catch of the flyspeck on the snout, and smell
the deeply acrid ray of dawn to softly sting the brow.
Your corpus crosses a
homeland wreckage blooming green
unfurling a dome like the halcyon fern
A Mosaic planetarium made
from webs and epidermis-thin iron
so that magnanimous faces pressed to it
stringed with freckled lumens
Watch.
What if I evaporated?
If everything that pricks me draws a red sea-
There’s woe, and then there’s the sea.
The salt black, heavy stinging, clumped.
I picked at my face til’ it bled today and I locked myself in my room.
I hoped the grade on my “examination” would disperse
Like molecules in water. But my vision does not waver. Every color
Precipitates in torrents like sheets of wax,
As solid and clear as any lucid dream, so then
Will they miss me away? Will we grow?
Am I destined to be condensation on my friends’ foreheads,
Dripping gruesomely, drifting off steam?
Ana Celeste Poetry 