along the north sea port
join a Virgil woman
guiding darker underground
beneath the cities of men
up for air
ice hung with our breath
long wrapped woollens
nestling steel in our pockets
heated by such as our own mortal blood
behind the drapes
through the doors
company of sailors whores and other stranded strangers
ritual of smoke
purification of rum
dreams spoke of southerner seas
twined with stories of the ice
phantomed like Frankenstein and Winnetou
every one of us a mythology onto ourselves and each other.
what you we do but cling?
what could we do but put our breathing mouths together?
labyrinth
tongues
underworld
archetype
alive.
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Entering Us through Breath
I couldn’t tell you which was man or which was woman
Or how they met their end.
I couldn’t see where one began, another ended
Or begin to guess how many.
But I can tell you this for sure:
They had never taken to the ground,
No matter how much heaped upon them,
They are always now, creatures of the air.
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With Alessandra
~
time travels softly
across the river
sun pours
volcanoes of night
suck away the day
ghosts rise hungry
clean olive scented bones
in another sleepless night
along this land of green dreams
30.044420
31.235712
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he had stayed away before
afraid of his own dreams
now 5:30 in the a.m.
she had come to him
so real he cursed god
wept into the kitchen
cursing god again
once more when sleep had took him
with out words she came
sat with him on deep scorch-less grass
head to head
dark her eyes kept him breathless
until once more was gone
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~
went down by the house you used to live in
all the windows had the same curtains
the one where your bedroom was was open
for a moment
draped in white
your invisible hands
wave
~
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dry as steel
echos walking home
believing in what you knew was not
and calling it love
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Waltzing the Night
by PD Lyons
We’d hold ourselves like prayers between each other
bare feet, beating hearts
soft by each breath
full moon kisses
beyond any daylight horizon
it was one o’ clock this morning.
woke up no particular reason
didn’t even need to pee.
kitchen floor so cold I hurt for shoes
stood there adjusting to Frigidaire light
three bottles of beer on the second shelf
opened one by the window
chugged a salute to those long
hard rain halos
this is not the city I used to know with you
maybe I go for another
maybe it’ll help me sleep
probably not
these days once I’m up
even beer can’t touch me
deserted even by the small comfort of your ghost
still I sway as if somehow
we’re dancing
_________________________________________________________________
links to the full issue #1 and the Journal for submissions of your own work
https://inquietudeslitjournal.weebly.com/issue-1.html
issue_1_ardor_and_anguish
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In the Language of Flowers, It Meant We are Already Dead
Beside whatever water there was there
Over flowing bowl an undulate of green tendrils
Draped swan songs
Left morning a capture of sorrow
She reached out to nothing there
She reached out to something ridged
Pulling itself from her heart
In and out
A pornograph of pain
The table set with only bones
Memories picked clean
A criticism of cutlery
Every single question ever asked –
A useless pointlessness recycling
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