1 Poetry

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saintedmad 17 Mar 2017 Tag: l'ecriture

A in the absence of casual divinity

rough nothing is like me, but the sun burning coldly; an afternoon spent in despondent silence, a brilliant curse muttered in the beginning of the bed. of course, i remember everything with audacious colour and i think i climbed over you to get to the place where no one else...

saintedmad 10 Feb 2017 Tag: l'ecriture

A the fever in a scythe girl

in some field where i love and kill, i bury my hands in dirt. there is nothing to say but so much to feel. the sunflowers lower their holyheavy heads with me, in pretty mimicry. giggling. dying. i am so full of swifts [watch now] and crows [believe now] i could fall into...

saintedmad 24 Aug 2016 Tag: l'ecriture

A until the sun stills, i shall summon

right then, we kept music for the moon and the dandelions raved with mercy as we spoke; i could hear you from any existence, any earth. the roses would open and drop their knives, we would pull them to our breasts and let them dream and cry and believe. i am...

saintedmad 09 Feb 2016 Tag: l'ecriture

A in the hour of the center of the always

how old can a heart beat? mine is two hundred years i die unrisen, iron cold and i want to feel illicitly warm; your voice and yet the wide death is a prairie, where my fingertips touch blades and locusts feed on the explorer in her abandoned skin, every little thing you ever...

saintedmad 15 Nov 2014 Tag: l'ecriture

A 1.618033 (s.unrise)

morning. black, bird on the bones of a beast, like hips or roses and i have not yet beaten my body into that smell. the drunken of sweet dying and everything token of a wrist. small: spill your dark life there. for the despot girl in between where your tongue takes bereavement.....

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