[circlepoems]

Freed from the vice of expectation, I maintain a high gaze.

No one knows the shape of a wound, even if they fit inside it. It's belief I'm after; Clap your hands.

[emphasiskills]

the oracle 

only processes 

monochrome:

 

happenstance duality

the coin toss insists

causality

comes in couplets

double the half

of the absence

dichotomy purloins

colour with 

twinned tunnel vision

pendulum's forked tongue

forecasts polarity

bipartite bargain

fool's gold fortunes

sold to the gullible

and penumbra 

is just a myth 

whispered by coincidence

[elfchenobject]

I am thirsty up on the very tip of the iceberg, which contains water

[thebasquewallachian]

[ginadope]

There is a river in me that misses its sea — Both such heretics; The ridiculous promise of breath, Beauty, madness, and fear

The flowers turn into wounded animals, then hope To turn back to seeds Forever unnamed Soon to sprout into sand

[neavebozorgi]

Botanical studio

[seadress]

Morning demands

rapid skin cell

turnover – caustic glycolic,

a spackle of paint.

I rule hair

with a hot iron into

submissive spools

and dress the body

like an embalmer.

And I watch you

watching me;

everything lacquered

and lacklustre when the

light hits.

[robertjw4688]

Anesthestized words

veil a void deep as the cracks

in a thinning heart.

[poppiesandpromises]

Sometimes an ocean

Bleeds into a desert—

Just sand and regret

Rain's soft affection dries up

Sometimes only thorns remain

[stolenhead]

wandering a paper labyrinth reversing eyes and turning stones cutting teeth on heiroglyphs dug out of the loam wandering a paper labyrinth pocket full of matchsticks

[ginadope]

This road leads to dreary melodies Each late evening  Laughter, barking, noise They will never belong to you;  Only the past belongs to you

Where have they gone? Somewhere hopeful Somewhere reliable Somewhere there is not even a headache for you As ever ignored

[smsomah]

Dhofar, Oman. Scanned from the book Oman Adorned: A Portrait in Silver; 1997; Miranda Morris & Pauline Shelton

[half-a-heart]

The heart only begins to heal when it stops rewriting the ending.

[andreativej]

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⏱️🐇་༘࿐

Life hardened me without having me sign any papers. I was evacuated from my own story without consent, without notice. I would’ve never traded my innocence for wisdom had I known it would drain me of my spirit. Had I known that innocence alone is capable of summoning joy. This sensibility I have been carrying with shame is but an echo. I was something louder. I was something deafening. All this time, I thought myself fragile and scorned myself for it. Little did I know, I was protecting the last of my softness.

andrea tivej

[dg-fragments]

Here's my heart, with all it's apparent glory, or absence thereof, but with intentions pure, for you to keep within the magnificence of your own, and if, for some reason, it were to slip, unknowingly even, keep it intact, in your remembrance at the very least, for within your memory, could it still flourish, otherwise it shall perish, with no trace of it's own.

- DG

[eris-index]

| life gives me grey

Curling, my fingers

greet the floor.

The marble speaks:

Volakas grey, I pluck a swirl,

pull it from underneath.

I braid the veins like twine,

with my brandy curls,

and wear it as a crown.

Nimbus of ash

bleeds in shapes of s,

of u,

of i,

that smoking shade

folds in ribbons through my skin,

and i become a walking stone,

a heart of striation

bled with iron,

walking, bent

beneath the strata.

[pmamtraveller]

Man and Woman, (1912-1915),Edvard Munch