[x]

kids cut through the middlewhen you spend a summer somewhere
where people squirrel away their
ugly children, it's hard not to notice
the subtle strain of the truth
on certain smarter faces,

or the absolute oblivion
in certain spinning eyes
and stumbling legs.

--

i met a girl named K,
just K,
with ankles like a deer and a voice
loud like noise and swampy like a swamp.
she liked orange foods and big words and
her hands shook like the girls in jazz class.

K clicked her tongue between words sometimes
but nobody ever mentioned it. her socks
were alphabetized. she carried a comb in her back pocket
but only 'cause she needed it, she said.
her hair was turning

Primevaland I don't smoke, but all my poems talk
of cigarettes and ashes because my father smoked
for forty years and now he can't breathe

and I can't breathe.

the chill from the rain seeps through the glass panes
and feels swollen in the loneliness of a crowded train;
the air is pregnant with an umbilical thread
connecting us to something intangible,
something necessary to our being

yet we don't exist at all.

smoke and vapor crawling out our mouths;
we talk because the silence is sometimes frightening,
and because we're searching the dust visible only
in the places where light bends for words that won't disappear

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?
i. summergirl,
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
surefooted smile.
ii. you have grown
so fast.
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
perched treetop,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
summergirl, th

outgrowing gillssea-cradled urchin
child has a salty heart yearnin'
for a glimpse of mother moon
tiny spiked wunderkind
punk, studded belt
you know life's answers well
shuffling through the seaweed-less halls
missing the ocean swell
tidal waves foaming at the mouth
everyone is laughing now
at the boy born on a boat one sunny afternoon
cause mama loved the sea like lovers love the sheets
landlocked kid is homesick and
sea sure, he's searching for the sea shore
life's a blur for Davy Jones at his locker
capsized by sea-legs on solid ground, he finds his seizures
and he hates his earth mother
he hates her
for falling for the ocean and
how he's rocked by the moon
how he's mesmerized by her glow
her pull on his sea-conceived cells
no
he hates her too
for the puking in the stalls
for the ridicule

rising from the riverit's one of the drowned days; those that drag
like hooks through a river,
turning dead things
belly-up on your shores. listen.

i am listening. to name it lover,
this ripening ache stretched
between us; to know
what it is you carry. you
are a deep silence gardened
by ghosts; hanging
from the hinges of a sprawled
elsewhere. (they are here
still, pacing the long brim
of your memory around
to the long brim of mine.)

i too have been drowning.
if not by one stone,
then another. the autumn quiet
of the body
in bed. this language named skin,
beast, temple, home. underwater,
you open your mouth; amniotic
void of unspeaking, horiz

-selfless-slipping from the sky
one lonely star
grants its last wish

and i'll pretend i'm Leosome days i think you wonder
like i do
the way i thumb my earlobe when i hope that you're not looking
the taste behind my teeth. in
gemini circles, i'd think us a malformed constellation;
being dust specks, i exist as naught but to black hole your world
into other closeness

sometimes i think you're wrong. i can write these words, can i?
i can write them 'cause you never look, you are heavy on me, you are pressed to my hip
and you don't know that I'm writing about you

and yes,
you will miss the point

i think there was a time when you never tried to cover up my voice with other songs.
a box of quartz plucked from the drivewa

InfernoSeptember is a sultry tangle
of curly hair and corduroy jackets stretched
over broad shoulders that I've been leaning on,
metaphorically.

He won't press for answers
and I won't trouble him with my problems.
So he complains about the weather –
he's never gotten used to these sticky, southern delta summers –
while I hold the door
and press the call button.

The half-lit elevator drops us off above Dante's first layer.
I feel sorry for anyone beneath,
but I've indulgences to buy
and my own hell to return to.

But there's a light in my pocket –
abandon not all hope,
and

smile.

lukewarmshe had the kind of voice
that seemed to be stuck
in the hour of four o'clock
in the morning - soft
and tired and luring,
mumbling her way through
subways and tunnel lights
all pale yellow with noise.

there was tea and long baths
and longer absences,
hiccups of breath
the best
she could do.
long springs and
longer falls,
one equinox to the next
and still the bad
was never that bad
and the good
was never that
good,
and she continues to hum
the birds continue to sing
the apples continue to
grow and
sour and
fall,

and bury themselves
again.

04.10chapter one:
leave the boy and
don't look back
"but you do, sweetheart."
(there's no room for
second guesses here.)
chapter three:
spanish music and rough russian accents
those fruity pink drinks were the death
of chapter two, the green ones will do for the night
chapter four:
"why?"
"he didn't trust me-"
(among other things)
"-so i took away his need to."

Coffeehouse Bluespeople like to drown in their misery
because it somehow reminds them
that they're alive.

take the lady sitting by the fog-kissed window, for example.
see how delicately her lower lip quivers
as she downs pints of coffee like a drug addiction
when in reality, each sip creates fissures on her tongue
and fills her stomach with caffeinated liquid
she secretly wishes was cyanide.

or watch how the curious boy with suns as eyes
turns to face you and aligns his line of sight with yours;
watch how his juvenile soul becomes
a map of bones so easy for you to read.
suddenly, you realize a gaze could have never held
that much despair
until

WordsmithsHow long did you think
we could pound our vocabulary with hammers
before it fell flat?

Dry BonesSometimes I replenish my whiskey bottles with water
And swirl it around. I drink up
To make sure I didn’t miss a single drop of that alcohol.
Diluted or not, I ache for it.

Grief.

But not as much as I ache for you.
I would rinse you out and sip all of your insides.
Then I would drag your skeleton out of your skin.
Help me. Worm your way free.

Grief,

My love.

I would jumble our bones together. Mix us up.
Not so we would be two with replaced bones.
No, I want us to have four arms, four legs. I want,
I want us to have two heads and a long twisted spine
Of vertebrate upon vertebrate.
I want us to clank out hollow sounds
When we come r

they can't be takentheir bleach skin caught my eye
albino white against the wild
hair like bright sky electric in the briars

haloed sister gods shot down like fawn

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More from ~HippieHebe

BreezeMy heart is gaping open;
temperamental winds
bellowing against
me, you.

Our beauty defined
in the air of winter days.

Wonderlandsometimes she gets lost..

(in the sky. on the moon.
in the dark.)

..inside your heart.

so, she crawls through your veins
like alice in the rabbit hole - leading to some forged wonderland

where the queen of your heart
still wants to cut off her head for taking her tart.

you let it happen - always,

because, let's face it
you're just another card in her deck;

a jack, perhaps.

but, you're so much like the cheshire cat;
witty and questionable intentions, and that purrrr.

surely you can see,
with those feline eyes, that you (the knave of spades) and the queen

are like two galaxies colliding -
destined

to destroy each other.

MerewifShe was trying to achieve a level
unwanting;

turning away lovers hearts as hers froze blue,

she grew a tail, scales and fell
into the ocean like she was born from frothing tides.

She lived in the sea, indulging
on crab claws and bottled rum, sitting in seashells

waiting for sailors with tattooed arms
and a lust for coldwater lungs -

their ache for bare breasts and pearls, sated toward
watery graves.

She savoured the sweetness of earth,

which carried on final breaths, in forms of bubbles
bursting against her gills.

8.11.12Last night I dreamt; the moon waxed full,
pregnant and four times her size.

Earthbound, I watched as she birthed
new worlds;

planetary satellites orbiting her swollen mass
as they suckled hungrily on nearby stars.

You led me to the devil's playground,
and we swung so high that we could touch constellations–

our cocaine fingertips leaving a powdery smudge
across the skyline.

I called myself artistic nude,
resting in goddess pose, and you insisted we go clean –

cold turkey.

We ignored the unrelenting pull of dark
and grey, drizzly days but nested in caves; shrouded by firelight,

dreamscape on walls, and
the feeling of subl

UnderwaterLast night I swam, and
the water was radioactive.

I grew gills
and blew bubbles, turning breaths
into memories.

There were no seagulls on the pier, no stalls,
no sweet and sticky smells,

but a pair of my 'fuck me' shoes.

I slept in seashells, and watched
the sun leak on to the surface –

ashes from earth blowing in the sky with the
salt from the sea.

The coral towered, and the
narwhals wearied with their brittle horns;

split and grew, branched antlers -
stags of the sea.

And like the submissive doe, I
rode on their backs –

soaring through the northern drift,
Atlantis bound, free from the soiled bonds of ear

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astronomers

by ~HippieHebe, Sep 23, 2012, 11:08:23 AM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

when we're together
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.

we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
into speech.

do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?

that night,
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;

stars forming,
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.

i imagined
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers – creator and destroyer
of worlds,
so close to your lips.

astronomersby ~HippieHebe

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

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^Beccalicious Feb 20, 2013 Professional Writer

There's a few places where you really tighten up those stanza's by cutting away some of the unnecessary words, but all in all the language is beautiful