✳flâneur — a map of the web's best reading

Michelle Jia |

vinylpoetryandprose.com · 481 words · saved by 1 readers

Or was I the wrangled crag, obsidi-flecked in my own volcano choke as the hot pink thread whispered round my jags and a young smudge yanked— Or was I that black as I tupped her, slate relief on her chalky luminescence, all wolf for her skin and a ring for my own in the parkinglot’s blue skillet: I watched her nape in the corridor crush— (So a diamond fleck in the lava) (So the throat-pipe grips on fighting coals) I could have been the whip that weaved through her magma: a cackle, but not a stitch. Or was it this: I was pleading, spot in a warehouse— light slapped silly-— into her altitudinous ear, I changed my mind about everything, and didn’t want the catlick flame or its reductio to dress me in something lighter than flesh— 9.28 Dawn piles into my shoe, a migraine of coloured sand. The desert wears me too, never once asking if the seams will hold. Father writes: be still. I am; I am moved through; I am lived another; here, and there the same. I rotate like an ache, a weight in place

He Dreams Before The Wedding Or was I the wrangled crag, obsidi-flecked in my own volcano choke as the hot pink thread whispered round my jags and a young smudge yanked— Or was I that black as I tupped her, slate relief on her chalky luminescence, all wolf for her skin and a ring for my own in the parkinglot’s blue skillet: I watched her nape in the corridor crush— (So a diamond fleck in the lava) (So the throat-pipe grips on fighting coals) I could have been the whip that weaved through her magma: a cackle, but not a stitch. Or was it this: I was pleading, spot in a warehouse— light sla

Explore this link on the map →

related reading