unwound

poems reposts renders

[writtenaura]

The First Dream: Lune

The First Dream: Lune

Sunlight dripped over the spiny ridges of a mountain range – northern winds pushed cool air and mist down into the valley in which they had been camped. 

Rain drops began to fall, and the misty air blew ever so gently across their faces. 

            “Rough week so far.”

            “Only as rough as you allow it.”

Silence fell once more, and the two began to prepare for breakfast in…

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[writtenaura]

485 Words on American Politics, and Politics In General

485 Words on American Politics, and Politics In General

“Bloodsport. Self righteous crusades. Here’s why I’m right and you’re wrong. You’re a decent person , but you’re just not good enough. My people know best and yours are misled. Our money? I know how to use it better. What’s wrong with this country? I can fix it. I promise you everything – my entire career; my soul…” And we’ve been watching since the scops sang – we’ve been reading about it since…

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[writtenaura]

Opalescent

A glittering ruby, 

She walks down the stairs

One hand to the guide rail 

Eases the pressure as onlookers

Stare. 

Her name is Opal though a 

Ruby by art 

Pristine, adorned in silk 

Her gait pierces the 

Heart. 

Fiddle the thumbs, 

Twiddle dee dumb

Im off a bean

Im sippin ciroc

“Take all these shots”

I sway and I rock. 

A far reaching…

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[writtenaura]

hush (review)

Hush: Media and Sonic Self-Control by Mack Hagood My rating: 5 of 5 stars

hush is a delightful read offering a bounty of pristine syntax, thoroughly informed chapters, and carefully constructed arguments. It’s a masterful blend of cornerstone theories – a high-tech trophy case of superbly crafted arguments and rhetorical delicacies all centered around the mediation of sound. hush is broken into…

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[writtenaura]

//:;:712e:;://

https://wp.me/P7ptgU-m8

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[writtenaura]

//{spirit}

///{Your Name}/// :Never quit.: :Never fade.: :Persevere.: :Overcome.: // :Their tears, our pain.: :Their bones, our refrain.: :From ashes, we emerge.: :From phantoms, we become.: // {life; given}/{death; silenced} {skull; broken}/{soul; violent} // (cleft hoof stampede) (our call upon the Earth) ///{Your Name}/// // :Let rain be their bane,: :young hurricane untamed.: // (song of destruction) (da…

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[writtenaura]

//:;:/3mJ

// municipal medical marijuana programs

https://wp.me/P7ptgU-lB

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[writtenaura]

Written to Say Hello

Written to Say Hello

What a lovely day. My mind wanders, my palms sweat as her lips close around the ripe green apple.

Crunch! followed by a simple pattern: clenched jaw, unclenched jaw, clenched jaw, unclenched jaw…

Its almost unbearable. The bees buzz productively on the other side of the window while she mounts a seemingly unrideable steed of focus.

And yet as much as I think I’m supposed to feel bad…

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[writtenaura]

Reloj

Blackened spots cloud

visions, the gaze far set

upon the horizon

and the dream

lived is the dream

created

bodies seeking refuge

we are a collective

forced to splinter

under the weight

of modernity &

As our globe spins

backwards

we are

twisted like

the concept

of time

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[writtenaura]

The Compress

Passing

You in the intimate

hallways of airport terminals

You look at me with venom

in your eyes sinking the fangs

of your consciousness into me

as if I were a rodent to be consumed…

I am

a.

proud.

black.

youth.

striding past you

as I wear the color of your skin

Is it really that hard to believe?

enserio hombre I can

feel your eyes boring

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[writtenaura]

Written to You, Achronotic Locus

Written to You, Achronotic Locus

Where does one begin when they’ve yet to decide what constitutes a “beginning?” Is there a way to break free from the shackles of the inner critic? How does a writer decide what they write about? Is it possible to become great by writing from cold-starts?

My father Bryan once told me that nothing is worse than someone who does the same old shit yet expects different results. “Asinine; It’s…

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[writtenaura]

Exhalation

  An extrapolate, a tongue dipping into its jars of ink.

A force of habit, a prolonged ideation—

Watch it as it jumps down its hole; a rabbit

Elusive, quicksilver rolling down the crease created

by your spine

it seeps into your skin,

ossmossian mercury;

ichor, god of communication.

  This is the thought chased, the thought dreamt-

now-fleeing (or was it fleeting?)

though now—only now—you realize

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[writtenaura]

Airplane Shit-Talk Ain’t Really Shit Talk

Airplane Shit-Talk Ain’t Really Shit Talk

Fragmentary engagement,

the pen bleeds as if

the tongue were sliced open –

Black ink droplets spattered

upon a page of decolonial

au jus,

  a patois created as the flight

slips from the tarmac:

the grip of the

tires is required…

but words don’t play by

the same rules.

  “I wish this pen

had that ink; I wish

people realized the

same truths I hold”

  yet Subjectivity

makes its home in us all;

The…

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[writtenaura]

Ripped Open

What in the fuck is going on man

Seriously I’m quite confounded

Up and down and up and down, back n forth and again

  and again and again and again

I swing my mind to and fro

  as I stumble into myself,

words hang from me like

  trinkets I adorned myself

like cracks on a broken

  pane of glass, once fully transparent

now abject – a spider’s web; a hideous grace

  momentary astigmatism,

ouch.

  fo…

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[writtenaura]

somesense

We live in a time

where “fuck you”

is synonymous with

“fuck me,”

  when “you” is a

reflection on the self

and “me” is lost,

rarely seen or mentioned –

being too informal

or perhaps not fashionable

enough.

  Used when necessary

and never indulgently,

(we do enough of that as it

is) – indulgence, I mean –

it fra(mes) (its)elf,

hiding between prefix and suffix,

rooting a canopy of an idea in your…

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[writtenaura]

In this Vacant Room

In this Vacant Room

The setting of the sun,

The rising of the moon;

How I want

To hold you in my arms

And look upon you as you swoon.

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[writtenaura]

Life as System: the Macro represented in the Micro

On the corner of Panola and Burdette there lies a quaint cafe by the name of Riccobono’s. Charging 8 bucks for a meager “two, two, three,” they run a steep risk and what’s more interesting, I’ve yet to ever see a black person working in the front of house.

Upon entering I was met by the cold eyes of a murderous grip of elderly waitresses. As they peered into me over their wireframe spectacles, I…

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