VERNON WARING : drift
AVERIL BONES : Mordicus
ERIN ELIZABETH : Simply a Poem on Wanting
POETRYREPAIRS v12.06:065
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drift Mordicus Simply a Poem on Wanting  
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VERNON WARING
drift
one snowy night years ago i was driving home and my ancient classically beautiful ford thunderbird spun around in a perfect three hundred and sixty degree direction careening but in a slow-motion way on slick ice i recall pleading in a frantic prayer to keep my car free from collision while my body was angling crazily like a crash test dummy veering dizzily but i survived i drove home recapturing my breathing with renewed respect for god's good grace and my incredible brush with mortality and i wondered about the snow that falls settles paints prettifies and terrifies our universe that never lets us forget the drift between life and death between fear and serenity
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drift Mordicus Simply a Poem on Wanting  
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AVERIL BONES
Mordicus
It was the colour of ruby carnations spiralling up the plastic tube as it left my body, but I suppose all I could see were dollar signs and the quickfix takeaway food I would buy with those bloodied coins. I was hungry, you understand. The needle was deep in my arm in a way that was comforting, something about that warm flow against both sides of my skin at once. The needle was there, and the nurse was not, but she would be back with her rough hands and dirty white-moon nails. There were to-ings and fro-ings about, other needles in other arms, and (I cannot tell you how often I have relived, revived, remembered these moments) somewhere amongst them, someone who surely felt a little faint? A little weak at the knees with disease? But the needle was deep in my arm sucking like a thirsty leech so that when I left I would have been lighter but for the bloodied coins in my pocket. So now, lying on this seedy mattress, staring at stars in the ceiling, I rekindle the touch of those rough nurse hands, and try not to think about voracious virus fighter planes cruising under my skin, and the weakness in my limbs and lungs, the dreary dead weights behind my eyes.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 065
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato





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drift Mordicus Simply a Poem on Wanting  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

ERIN ELIZABETH
Simply a Poem on Wanting
Simply a Poem on Wanting Sun is a mole, abnormal speck of sky plastered onto the decrescendo of dusk. I am sitting across the Antarctica of his grey '94 wagon, and it is here I grapple for you, for your almost reachable limbs spread vulnerable that late May evening, your body soured by her eyes -- landmines. Now the scenery is static, the beauty of freedom, green and tedious. Promised Delaware coast, steady rise of virgin peaks, a day tossed over his head into the cool chlorine: all like newspaper. There is just you and my ancient musings -- almost asking what all your music meant before Orlando, how she could hold your alphabet in such tight and diligent fists. How I was supposed to find your feet when the weight of my existence collapsed, and I became a featherless child in a world of cut-outs. There is just me in a fitful quagmire, without verse or veins to destroy. Just me in a bright pink reality, the tar of adolescence mopped, resealed. Ziplocked and driven into boxes and bags. Me, wanting to kill the sticky mascara puddles, the creek of eyeliner, the girl I could not be. There is just him sitting like a monument, his eyes not heeding the fallout, the mushroom movement of me, trying to push out of this sepulcher of fidelity. Just me watching the sun spit itself across the bellicose skyline, pressing my fingers into the side-view mirror, wanting a man so distant he's close, and feeding on the distance so close it is licking the stone of my inner thigh wishing to be you.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 065
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VERNON WARING : drift
AVERIL BONES : Mordicus
ERIN ELIZABETH : Simply a Poem on Wanting

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