“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label choke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label choke. Show all posts
Thursday, October 3, 2019
Implementation
This pen writhes
hisses and spits
poison darts
from the bow of my fingertips.
I wrestle and choke
it down
on an empty
page
the feeling bleeds through
the collected pulp
smearing the white sheet.
Against bone,
the pressure to cave in
begins
at the first period.
Etching the paper
so that complete erasure
is not an option. I strangle
the words, Go On,
in the process.
Artwork credited by Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, 17th-19th century [Public domain].
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Nightfall
Woken from a deep slumber, as if my name was spoken aloud. Only the spotlight of a honeyed full moon sings across my shadowed walls. Heart...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
When I wonder do we first think we Are welcome to the world? From the abyss of a watery womb we hear outside of Us w...