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aliunde || {allwhere} by anonaiad, literature
Literature
aliunde || {allwhere}
i am elsewhere:
silence, the sound of knowing
drifts in a solar {d|h}aze
beyond bounds
& you are here,
nestled at the heart{h} of me
twined & twisted into burning coils;
a flutter of a b{r}eat{h}
& i am here,
ever hovering in the vast
space that separates
inhale from
ex{hale}
& you are there:
{re}birthing an immense conflagration
from a single glowing ember
that blinks sleepily
in the light
& i am there:
my home this satellite
adrift, caught between a comet
& the moon
The days we are apart are the longest of my life.
Her lips are dew-dipped when she calls,
and I come to her, legs trembling
and I fumble as I fall again into a kind of trance for her.
I wander with her into a missing child’s bedroom
strewn with strangers’ dirty clothes
where she, so alive,
is wild with a smoke-and-floral fragrance
as the setting sun stirs the dust among the long-forgotten diaries
of hypodermic ghosts.
Her lips are poppy-red and wet with whiskey;
and the shadows play in ribbons around her through the blinds.
She dances with me with bloodstained rosaries dripping from her neck
and tattoos of snakes as wispy as her
Lately, I am more garbage man than gunslinger,
digging through discarded similes and putrid prompts
on the way to this literary landfill in my mind;
Lost, and looking for a way
to recycle these ruined rhymes,
Rembrandt of Rot
Da Vinci drawing dreamscapes in detritus and dross.
When the day is done I sit back,
sip upon the six-pack of solitude,
and reminisce of simpler times
when inspiration came in sudden bursts:
hot lead and hailstorms,
ideas striking brainsoil like gunshots,
bloody and breathless.
I have taken to staging seances of the sub-conscious
seeking spirits of subdued songs
that I have slaughtered in the search for sanctity,
Our neighborhood stray is dead. I know this
because there is a black cat here I've never seen.
This cat is not the black splotch covered canvas stray
that clawed up and down my arm last winter
when I mistakenly tried to wrap it in a blanket
for warmth. This cat does not have the matted
fur that the stray did, does not deliberately stretch
out in front of my car tires the way the stray did
right before I had to leave for work, does not
chase lizards in the grass like the stray. This is not
the stray that aggressively meowed at me
when he wanted affection, nor is it the stray
that climbed our fence to try catching birds.
I'm certain this new ca
cat -
napping
on the chair -
black crescent moon.
i like how your fur glistens in the light.
in your dreams you are chasing beasts again.
mighty hunter,
catching and
eating
mice.
Shattered worthless body
Aching and cold-limb lined
Crawling to the bed edge
Like a cure is there to find
There is simply no relent
To offer any peace of mind
The best that you do
Is to pray the world is kind …
Though experience and anger
Tell me it’s often not
This illness that I’m wracked with
Is the one that time forgot
And the trap that often opens
Is where people think you’re weak …
But, then again - strength
Is never ours to seek
Things they don’t tell you about losing your grandfather on a Tuesday night:
When you wake the next morning, you still
need to get out of bed in time for work, you still
have to shower, dress yourself, eat breakfast, brush
your teeth and hair;
and when your mother calls
to check in, you have to comfort her because she lost
her dad last night;
and when you call your grandmother
your voice cannot waver lest you upset her, because
she lost a man she's known for seventy years and even
though she would never hold it against you, you still
feel obligated not to cry;
Mom, What's a Vagina? by Emerald-Alexandria, literature
Literature
Mom, What's a Vagina?
At 9 years old, I rushed home late from my school's "Just Say No" assembly to catch a new episode of Oprah with Dr. Oz. My mom didn't know I watched it, but Oprah was my idol, and I hadn't missed a single episode that year. The doctor strutted on the stage, with all his years of medical training and mastery guiding his tall step and wrinkled smile. He stretched the blue gloves to his elbows, and dragged the tarp off of the organs he called "healthy". They were a dull pink, and I could almost feel my own fingers scraping against the spongy flesh when he held it up for all to see. I felt a chill in my spine as I raked my own hand over my shir
Maybe I'm just worried that my carelessness
Will follow me into motherhood -
The way I dented my boss's truck when I was 18
And then lied about it
Might mean that when the bough breaks
And I fail, inevitably, to catch the cradle
Lying won't be enough
But it will be all that I can think to do
Maybe I'm worried that the worst in me
Will become the worst in my child
The way I lose my temper with you for no reason
And then blame you
Might mean that when I show my love through a sharp tongue
And I fail, inevitably, to realise the damage done
Apologies won't be enough
But they will be all that I have left to try
Maybe I'm just worried that my lov