All posts tagged: poetry

burn after reading: the beginning of a book i hope to complete

Words and photos by Angel Fabre felix’s poem
the anger in one’s soul will soon prove to no longer have meaning the urge for violence will soon take over
and all that will be left is
the blood of the innocent and not so innocent soon the world will be faced with the world’s blood on the world’s hands
nobody’s sins will be forgiven
suppose we are all condemned?
monday until you are comfortable with being alone
you will never know if
you’re choosing someone
out of love or loneliness.

Like Ian

Like Ian Words by A.A. Reinecke It is cold like a prison like Antarctica gray and on the folded bit a dribbling of blood the shape of: Minnesota. St. Paul. That’s where he’s from. St. Paul. It is noon now. That was breakfast. The room was a sideboard with bits of fractured glass. The windows spoke in tongues or through lust strained in milk. Q: Do you love me? A: I don’t know. Chai was sweet grain melted like the wetness of my mouth and your tongue tasted still like Ian and his carpet and his gin like a plow for planting prohibition. Q: The flask? A: No. My plastic cup membrane shed quartz like history nabbed from a headband. The 1920s. Q: You eating? Coffee? Anything? A: No. St. Paul. That’s where he’s from. St. Paul. Photo credit: Brandon Yung

Kyla Jonas: melancholia

Words by Kyla Jonas Photographs by Brandon Yung Benevolence I am trying to embroider all of my apologies onto the fleshy parts of my fingers. I am hungry for more kisses from angels on my cheeks and more soft lullabies sung to my stale elbows. I wish to feel less like the chair that the morning fog steps off of in an attempt to hang itself over me. I pray for days that won’t always end with me staring at the floor and whispering about the heavenly body of earth to the light behind my dead moss eyes. I have the outline of butterfly wings carved across the bare covering of my ribs. I am wrapping my heart in Irish wool to grow into a sweater with every beat and warm my antarctic essence. I will one day hold fondness and humility in my rough hands and bestow it upon myself. I will be covered in shadows of babies breath flowers whenever I am immersed in sunlight. I will absorb tenderness. Vacant Small Talk My mind is …

longings of a listless mind

   The thoughts had mulling over a cup of coffee, alone in the morning, or maybe staring out a train window. Poet Claire August shares her own moments, thoughts and words strung together in a seemingly cosmic benevolence. Here are three of her poems. poems by Claire August images and other words by Brandon Yung      Listless      What is there to      do on a Morning      so long awaited      where there is no-      thing in particular that      anticipates & dreams      move slowly like a      heavy novel. I             write poems: art of      the listless. I open      my mouth, breathe      yellow plums.             In The Future      How does anyone      find the            time these days              for optimism.      The future is for      the profound, the      past beautifully      barren.   …