airplane. ocean. midnight. and home.
cause you know the truth hurts, but secrets kill—
can't help thinking that i love it still
I saw my own city glittering black and rose gold,
the dark sunset pastel, a color stolen for a moment.
The people who keep their lights on while they sleep
they keep them on for me, where I watch from the sky,
looking from below like a slowed-down shooting star.
back here, here, do you know what i mean by here?
you all feel it, too. like an apartment that used to be filled with
immortals who disappeared in the doorway and
the carpet begs them back, to hear footsteps through the wall,
to smell their perfume,
betrothed to the frozen rain and in love with the empty skies
six ways 'til dawn, you never caught your sleep
and each inch taken was another mile lost
tiptoed around the tulips, loathe to disturb peace
even as the clouds held back their thunder for you
five ways 'til twilight, and you stood behind me
a fight to the empty abyss
but we always stood together
a cornucopia of risen memories
bubbling to the surface
four ways 'til dusk, holding out like
the crow and The City, act vii by vvlpes, literature
Literature
the crow and The City, act vii
she has finally realized this is a foreign kingdom, her smell & her hair slicing the taxonomy unevenly. she takes a knife but she needs a rope. a guard, sentry spots the clunk of her boots; she bows & raises the visor of her binoculars in greeting. he shuffles his feathers & says something in a language she cannot learn. her knee hits the dirt & her palm leans into the balance. take me to your palace, please, show me where you live. the crow raises his speared beak & flies off without a word. arrows pierce her armor, snack on her heart. she leaves, alone & lonely, a knight in a world that does not recognize its need fo
the crow and The City, act iii by vvlpes, literature
Literature
the crow and The City, act iii
she has the power of creation. she thinks: what if i met a coyote? & she turns the corner & exchanges eyes with a lonely coyote, over-perfumed blackberry bushes passing between them. she has the power of destruction. she touches the skull of a deer, antlers sawed & only suggested, & death ripples backwards & holds hands with the hunters responsible, causing their aim to be a lie, their bullet only a graze.
the first is only partially true; the second is an out-right exaggeration.
the crow and The City, act ii by vvlpes, literature
Literature
the crow and The City, act ii
& maybe today she saw a hawk & her instincts carried her after it, her eyes too weak, her binoculars all wrong. she wanted to spread her arms out wide, to shake something in violence just as a warning, a threat, a promise. the causalities spasm through her mind, gurgling blood across her thoughts. but the crows throw themselves into chaos; caw, caw, cawing in reverse, sewing circles around this unwelcome visitor. & maybe today, as she watched, a few of her feathers fell; she's slowly realizing that she did not evolve to fly & her dreams are being shot out of the sky one by one.
out of season hunting
the crow and The City, act i by vvlpes, literature
Literature
the crow and The City, act i
one day, while she's looking in the mirror & counting her eyes, her nails will no longer be nails. she will glance at them, the dark gleam of talons scratching at her gaze. her eyes will feather & shaft themselves into the blackness of an aviary; the sky will be reflected in their depths even when it's cloudy. her shoulders will begin to ache for the wind, her hands constantly flying away from her. she will yank at the feathers, screaming in the voice of some ugly songbird in the lateness of april.
this is not me this is me this is not me is this me
the graveyard cypress, act vii by vvlpes, literature
Literature
the graveyard cypress, act vii
& it
circles back.
the trees tell
us stories we don't
remember, & the arrows
point at our hearts.
we see the stag running
& run-through, & the boy
slouched between grief &
shame, & a god who can run
his fingers through anything,
& a tree split like teeth at night.
& the graveyard wanes into the eclipse.
<-- & the graveyard doesn't come out the other side. -->
the graveyard cypress, act iii by vvlpes, literature
Literature
the graveyard cypress, act iii
let's
imagine
a tree.
once it was a
deer, or maybe
just a boy,
but now it keeps its
heart
on the outside.
and this tree
and this tree
perhaps it once
spoke in october leaves
& laughed with the blossoms
of april & cried
with the sap of july.
because this tree
because this tree
it wanted more for itself
than things it could not do
& things it could never be.
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