ekaterinn: (close by poptartmuse)
So, between setting up my classroom and freaking out at my roster, I got off-track with Week of Poetry. I'm going to try to do the last couple of poems this week. Meanwhile, have a belated Day 5 (though I'm not entirely happy with it):

when he asks you to stay

when he asks you to stay,
you say ATTTCGCGCGA,
& count how DNA turns into RNA turns into proteins,
turns into your reasons for leaving;
you say that this continent makes you strange,
& familiarity is an addiction
you were never good at -

(you sleep on floors with satin sheets while your calluses grow soft,
& you lie & you lie & you lie)

there's lines on his face
like cracks in the ocean floor,
when he asks you to stay.
ekaterinn: (the seasons of my discontent (selphish))
The Music of the Spheres

you sleep,
your back cut by the lime
of your dress,
your left shoulder rising
with your breath,
my breath, mixing with
the air-conditioning.

the last shuttle breaks though the clouds,
shooting straight towards the heavens
that we see only fleetingly in dreams.

I believe in the glory of small things;
the ice clinking & melting in the glass;
the sky bisected & complete through the blinds;
the book hidden & waiting in the shop -
(I believe in you).
ekaterinn: (Default)
Lost Tongues

we are pixels,
you and I,
though sometimes I fear we are ghosts,
speaking in lost tongues,
through these modern plantation walls.

I sleep with books and blankets,
and your bracelet, and when I dream,
I dream of everything but you.

where is the love?
fingers tracing
the hollow of your neck -
I cannot say if they are
mine or yours
or someone liminally
luminous,
a third woman
who walks between
us,
trading our touches
for bytes on the hour.

will we go down to the sea together?
or will we stay on dry land,
and drown?
ekaterinn: amanda from highlander peering over sunglasses, 'whatever.' at the bottom (as if!)
how to be good

first, breathe.
breathe deep and uneven.
investigate other ways of breathing.
breathe in with your belly.
breathe out with your heart.

obtain clean bandages.
bind up others' wounds.
leave yours flayed.

wash your face in fresh streams.
scratch omens in your skin.
try not to bleed.

listen when someone says,
"penance is a noun; love is a verb."
don't believe them.
(don't quite disbelieve them, either).

when all else is smoke,
leave.
ekaterinn: (Default)
posthuman doom
this future, full of sexiest cookies
and library waffle shops
and no public wi-fi
in this future there is no unethical treatment of elephants
(there are no elephants)
in this future
you are growing up global
you are already dead
you are making starstuff
you are a new wave movement
in this future the secret is in our genes
in the systemic power structures
that replicate like tumor cells
in which the better angels of our nature
are twisted upside down
in this future where your rooms are full of
empty stuff and light
where kindness is common
and love the only mechanism of survival
in this future.

***
I blame [personal profile] kat_lair entirely. Also, sexy cookies to anyone who spots all the song references.
Week of Poetry

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ekaterinn

December 2015

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