Snow Owl
In the night my shadows come
they cover me in their weight
they smell like ocean winds and midnight fire
they taste like salted soul and grainy mustard
they don’t understand the language of aesthetics
i tell them they’d be prettier if they wore silk scarves and beaded jewels, amber and turquoise shaking in their wake
they tell me physicality is a mythical creature
they tell me they are truth and truth can’t be seen
they tell me when I place a flower behind my ear they are part of its stench
they tell me sound is a lie, silence provides knowledge
during the day i remember them fondly
look for them behind me
wonder if they’re listening
its my shadows that remind me i am crazy
i crave their touch like i crave his touch
but there are times when i feel nothing
II
The body waits to be objectified
knowing of the possible pain
absolving itself of responsibility
craving obsession and desire
she waited in a mirror for someone to call her beautiful
each time they did she fell in love
forgetting it meant nothing
forgetting love is more than that
but the body waits to be objectified
the mind waits to hear its worth in compliments
hoping words will define essence
hoping essence will define love
falling into the pattern of a cloudless sky
morphing itself into water
forgetting you can’t swim through dirt
forgetting you can’t fly through stone
forgetting her amorphousness remains unseen
III
Finding Green
i see her in the park climbing trees
smiling through veiny leaves
she said she remembered me from home
when I used to climb the trunk holding bark between my toes
when I was sweet and free
she said she missed you
your long hair falling in her grass
she said you were beautiful
like wild flowers in summer heat
like sunshine and lazy guitar days
like honey suckle and dandelion
she said its time to return
the weeping willows cry for us at night
the tall grass sways in sorrow
the ponds are still in wait
the wells are dry
before i left she whispered softly in my ear
her touch tickled my feet and resonated in my belly
what did she say
she said its time to find green
IV
He met somalia in the night
found her laying in the tall grass
her arms and neck wrapped in golden vines
flowers behind each ear
leaves covering her softest parts
when he saw her he thought she came from the sky
thought he was witnessing a fallen body
Thought the form in front of him was a gift
He wanted to touch her, to talk to her
to watch her lips move, taste the flesh between her legs
he lay down next to her and asked for her devotion
she said devotion didn’t work like that
he’d have to lay with her first
meet her, Somalia, on the ground
feel the imprints around her wrists and neck
trust she would move towards him in time
she said devotion comes out of patience—the pain of wait
She said her thorns would wound him for a mere moment
But if he held the cold hard ground long enough
the pain would turn to pleasure
a pleasure different than he’d felt before
she said his thorns would wound her too and she’d welcome it
HE said no. He said he couldn’t.
he said the ground had been unkind to him before.
He said he wanted to fly high with her
bring her back to where she came from
She said the sky doesn’t take those who fear the ground
he got up and walked away without a sound
she closed her eyes and reveled in the dirt. . .
Transmissions Circa 2019
