There's something about the smearing of ink, the smudges on the side of my hand. They are home.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Skylight
Your face has moon in its glow,
and I know you are dreaming
by the way your eyes are wide
and focused on some unseen star.
Your breath is like disaster,
but your lips tell me to stay.
I taste shooting stars in them,
and with the way you keep
them under your teeth,
I know you like the taste too.
You are Father Night sky
and your untold daydream thoughts
are the answers we were looking for.
When people ask what life means,
I tell them to look for the moon.
©Jordyn Rhorer 2009
Dive
I want to dive deep into the voice of poem,
into the black and thick water like molasses,
like blood in the moonlight. I want to sink
below the surface and suck in thick,
metaphor sky, fill my lungs and drown
in starlight liquor.
I want to breathe poem-air and taste
the raspberry center of the 80% cacao.
I want to run into the brick wall of stanza,
swallow my teeth and be flattened,
like graffiti on its surface.
©Jordyn Rhorer 2009
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