#1curioussoulpoetry

[slowmonstrafication]

While the washer runs

in this decrepit apartment

where we learned to groan and grow

you sitting, hovering over a garden map, and i

planning lessons,

the lights flicker to the ungodly sounds of machinery spinning

and the warmth spreads from softening turning lamps

to my chest.

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[slowmonstrafication]

I hope you write a goddamn song

I hope you write a goddamn song

from this night,

for it took from my bones

to watch you stumble on home

through the dark

tears in your eyes.

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[slowmonstrafication]

I wrote this under Autozone’s street lights

you have become a poem

and I try to speak and spill of you.

your gentle hand on my cheek bone and ear

my hand on your chest,

a string lights of overcast words

and anxieties whispered under the Autozone street light,

you have remained a poem

and I can’t quite taste these words.

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[slowmonstrafication]

do you acknowledge your anger?

do you acknowledge your anger?

do you process it’s deep roots

and festering vines?

how it sits in front of your mirror

and grabs for what it can,

how it builds walls

yet invites bridges,

how it can craft your fear and food-stained teeth

yet share a bed with the very heart of you.

that it pumps your blood and gives your legs

the jump and kick right through,

that it is found on all of you

every crevice too.

do you acknowledge your anger

ask it to dinner,

set it a place,

and ask it for it’s name?

find it’s true value

and with that, other claims?

do you ask to hold it, cherish it deep down?

do you acknowledge your anger

and let it be part of who you are?

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[slowmonstrafication]

webs and nests

the wind exhausts it’s lungs

and birds chatter their fritter and trill

I whisper back, waiting,

eating more slowly

breathing more deeply

listening more fully

watching more clearly.

this year will carry me

(has carried me)

and the corners of this house host these

webs and nests of fret and fear,

yet,

I whisper back, waiting.

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[slowmonstrafication]

a lonely chord

this drum

pelts

and these bells

toll

a lonely chord

throughout the symbolic web

of social climbs amongst

my day.

i will hum along,

warm my arms,

and hang my coat.

this is the music of my season;

the season of my soul.

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[slowmonstrafication]

twin archers brewery

these voices rise higher

and i’m reminded

of a movement bigger than i.

bells ring and feet pound;

i am waiting

for a moment’s divine.

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[slowmonstrafication]

i forget about stars

i forget about stars

and in these moments

past and present

where the earth feels still

and my mind it spins

i am placed in a moment of

grand surrender

for there are stars

above me

and quite possibly below

in the shallow depths

of what i oft call myself.

i forget about stars

and the way they map

a world bigger than my own

in a trance of glistening pinpoints

and a lovely audience to gaze.

i forget about stars

and how they

night after night

create a puzzle and induce

creation to breathe and fester under their stage-like presence.

i forget about stars

until i am stopped in a moment

of deep heaviness.

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[slowmonstrafication]

8/7/18

and there

exists

light and flavor

in what often feels dark,

unabashed presence of chaos,

this tunnel of sea rolls and tides

somehow directs

and pulls

with loving hands.

and her name will

exist

such as herself,

a woman of tenderness and

hunger.

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[slowmonstrafication]

run and hide

sometimes

you see a trip

my feet fumble

a heel catch on the carpet

and my confidence cracks

my mascara might run

left or right, i run with it.

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[slowmonstrafication]

lightning bolts

lightning bugs

they come

and like the blink of your eye

they disappear.

goodness

pure goodness

moves this way also.

you’ve given me

a taste of

deep-seeded

goodness

and it has left me

thankful.

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[slowmonstrafication]

this body

and this body

in which i stretch caves and creases,

fills me empty.

it produces more than i know

and screams when it is hurt.

this body

sweats when i run

dances when i hear music

drinks when i am merry

but is also silent

when the world whispers back a melody.

and this body

is mine. is creation. and i will learn.

i will learn.

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[slowmonstrafication]

id

we joke about the id,

the compulsive want

or drive to achieve a sense

of legacy.

yet, this pulse to jump,

to fall from this mountain,

seize the day

and conduct a symphony

with my wings

fills my veins

and i thirst to run off the edge.

not for death,

like most would think,

but to release this baited

breath

held deep inside of me.

this is the id i call my

soul

and these mountains

pull it forth.

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[slowmonstrafication]

streets of pfullingen

we laugh,

the two of us

your sounds intermixing with the streets

of pfullingen

baking in the sun

as your leg throbs

my heart too

to fix everything in my path.

but somehow

for some reason

our laughter eases the weight

and i taste peace.

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[slowmonstrafication]

contemplation

in the script

intricate buildings of histories

past

there is a plaque of heaviness upon my shoulders.

it keeps me asleep at night

yet quiet during the day

while the sun

scorches my cheeks and soul.

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[slowmonstrafication]

i wrote this on a mountain

i wrote this

on a mountain-several actually-

which moves and craves

alongside the earth

and rests as home for birds and stones.

this mountain

in me

sits. sinking through the ribbons

and does not seem to offer,

to invite sleep.

my hair whips my skin and my

soul is sore

and a weeping squeal can be felt

breaking the rocks

creating caves within

these sheltered limbs

keeping locked what i can.

but as i am-a mountain-i also stand

towered over

looked past

by this mound i stand upon.

it whispers

“keep sharp, you fool.

create symbols,

beckon

those outside

to wander and wonder

within.

to split their hands

on your stairs,

to document their

presence in the folds of your hair,

to hike your steep grounds

and climb into your brokenness.

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