Poetry Post #15: Estranged Wings

I found her through the decades,
searching left and right,
taking a vast nip of codeine.

Trust there’s flies
But something more extraordinary
underneath.

Something colorful,
but estranged
from its own wings.

From all angles,
she’s a garden.
And I don’t have enough water.

Twenty-three years it took—
All because
of her pomegranate shampoo.

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“Gone Forever”

 

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“I must be in love with this woman, Sumire realized with a start. No mistake about it. Ice is cold; roses are red; I’m in love. And this love is about to carry me off somewhere. The current’s too overpowering; I don’t have any choice. It may very well be a special place, some place I’ve never seen before. Danger may be lurking there, something that may end up wounding me deeply, fatally. I might end up losing everything. But there’s no turning back. I can only go with the flow. Even if it means I’ll be burned up, gone forever.”

—Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

Poetry Post #14: Greek Food

POISON.
Ancient Greek food to the left,
to the right, Eurasia. 

Bottled roses, hips
like xerox-trusting
lilies in a Tango.

Ice sliver—four,
six, seasons unjustifiably 
traced to laudanum. 

Doctor pretense
Labored birds, unlabored
and enchanting.

March one, seven.
“radiant climes”
and finally.

It’s gonna be Millay—
shadowing, disparaging
FIRE.

Biting, bitching 
for HELL,
in her web smoke.

Dressed up like a 
POISSON.