I can't get the formations out of my headI find myself five months deepI can't get the formations out of my head by KaitForest
in a wild wood. I make sacrifice with
my teeth, ripping skin, draining blood
leaving corpses upside down
as I come upon them. how have they
traveled this far without fighting?
it grows darker and I meaner.
March unfolds April unfolds May,
the light lingers longer but does not
penetrate, and I materialize a
white as heartwood,
sticky and moaning.
naked elmit's nights like thesenaked elm by salmonella-poisoned
(becoming every night)
when i most feel the mass
of your absence
like deadweight on my bones
you are joints cracking
easy as bumping a toe
i've looked up handbooks for
detangling a person from your life
detailing the trimming process
snip snip snip
and your life will be like this:
you are alone
and your branches are bare
but your roots are still strong
and you'll spend your nights missing the leaves
but imagine all that sunlight
(you forgot what it felt like)
and your bark may grow thick
but the warmth still gets in
and your roots are learning to love the soil again
panic roomI was floating through the river in your bodypanic room by salmonella-poisoned
Grottos carve their way through to your center
An existential water rot
It makes you smell like old wood and home
I was watching structures crumble in your wasteland
The scorched earth of your thighs blessed with craters
You are no victim
But a survivor
Your knuckles bloodied from fighting
Your lips cracked from the discourse
Head aching with the weight of introspection
I was imagining the cavern of your heart
And all its darkest crevices
The pieces of you under construction
I imagine they are the warmest
(Almost as warm as your soul)
And I am curling up in the shadows in your corners
This is where I plan to settle
I am sending vibrations through your bones
The song of my body is in morse code
The frequencies you exude resonate in me
And I lock myself in your panic room
I'll scrub the worry from your walls
Hang the lights of my love in your corridors
Explore your wilderness with the fervor of a forager
The depths of you still unfathomable t
seeds.darling,seeds. by etre-aime
everything's blooming now
spring just a wind gust away
& already the world is more green than I've ever seen
& I know why your cheeks blossom rosen -
you have bathed in this light your whole life;
you carry magic like the trees carry moss.
(sometimes I feel I know your whole soul.
sometimes I wonder what secrets sleep inside you.)
you, not quite icarus, never too much sun
only the dapple in the boughs of a redwood where you lived for a year
before they came & plowed them down.
you were young & wild before we met,
I know this for certain when we talk on gardens that grew ghosts,
we share histories we'll hold perpetually.
I think about you & the babe you & annie oakley made,
both tiny breaths sleeping on your chest
& you not wanting to move.
is it brazen of me to say I want to grow here with you?
you, subtle smile & ink-kissed limbs.
you cervidae, you the soul of a cello.
your eyes hold a solid silence,
your eyes hold the hush of the stars.
(you I love,
you so new, so green.)
i need an angel
with big white wings and skin
that shines like gold,
do you believe in angels, charlotte?
the plants are all dead in here,
how can a plant
know something i don't?
and i'm not religious but the only time
i ever felt peaceful
was when i sat in church
luke comes in, and chloe says
luke, you believe in angels?
he says what, like them feathery dickheads
with halos and stuff? nah i don't -
then we sit and watch a fly bash it's brains in
on the window
that it can't see what's killing it
neither can we
(the plants are dead, but we are still waiting)
epitaphthe girl i did not run over
looks at me with eyes that say
that i am part of the problem,
when i could have been her solution,
looks at me like she’s blaming me
for swerving away, like she’s measured
every one of her steps from her door
to the curb, and i am the one thing she failed
to account for.
i almost double back to try and tell her
all the same things that i have been told
but i do not. her feet are too heavy, by now.
her stomach too hollow. she does not
need more empty words to swallow, she does not need
stop signs or yield signs or ‘for the love of god
think of everyone you are leaving behind’ signs.
i do not double back but i think of her eyes
for the longest time, think about them
so much i pick them out of every obituary
i read and every graveyard i pass. she has become
a marble mausoleum to me, a girl with too little
blood holding onto the souls of all the people
who people like me bulldoze over. i swerved
for her, but there must be countless other
Your Lips Dripped AmbrosiaLet me carry
the weight of
upon my shoulders
my clavicles &
I become Atlas
I've asked history's
for a copy of your
I've snuck into art
alas, the roadmap
to your soul leads
to the most magnificent chateaux
to ever bless the heavens: a scene
unfit for my
Gravity vanished at the touch of
your skin (carefully stitched
from the lushest clouds
the sky could offer,
a majestic patchwork
of all my wishes alive)
my fingers forgot
their purpose as they
eclipsed into your
You smiled all of
the stars at once
and when your
6/22/14I guess my sickness
starts with itself.
I need fever! fire! fragrance!
I have so many desires but
so little patience.
I do not find what I
am seeking and I do not-
Desire and action are two different things
intent and fruition
are two different
things. not seeking
I am-- but simply
hoping. I am rotting
I want to die all the time.
All the time, I am hoping.
an atheist's prayerdear god,
i planted no tulips in autumn
and no tulips came in spring.
how silly of me, then
to mourn the empty garden,
to long for fields of amsterdam,
to kneel at night in cold dirt,
i’ve learned there is
a certain ache in lacking
a thing never had, that small itch
whose relief is two seasons past –
so god, if you can hear me,
know that i am homesick
whose name, like yours, i know
but whose flowers i cannot see.
i am eaten by the suni swallow the sun
& it melts like butter
a broken yolk
a weed in the dust
i am simultaneously
i stand in the fire
a weed in the dust
& i burn
& i do not burn
I haven't felt this hopeless in awhiledo my screams
turn to white noise,
do they get lost
in the sea?
I am aching
I am black bruises
beneath sore bones);
the storm is coming,
and all the rain in the world
could not extinguish me.
I am lighting myself on fire,
and you cannot hear me.
I do not deal in subtleties,
and you can see my scars
(raised like sidewalks)
from a mile away.
a safe distance.
how can my body
(no pain like this body)
be so weighted down
(I am drowning even now)
when I know
that I am so empty?
(I am calling loudly
out to the void;
answer me back.)