Let it die.

Turn away from the resuscitations there the dream warrants the saplings, she in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed… Read More Let it die.

our ghosts.

our ghosts accompany loneliness… mirrors of distant memory      find to the dusk like at sea      a memento in a dream      that eludes me and floats…      Orange blossoms into Ophelia’s violets and the granitic rocks      rush to the red dust for how quietly time has passed  through the statuary of rock… Read More our ghosts.

In mind.

catalpa, heart-shaped and boneyyour daddy died years ago,in redress of his mind, where I leavemy fingers on the stone,and I’ll never see him, he is just a rockhe is just a worm;you’ve been in my mindbut never knew me,I tire; deathis half the stradivarius of the birdsand their strings of gutthan it is mystifying orinboundto… Read More In mind.

always.

paraphernaliaflowers; the frozen nailsof Mars, lest I leavein lunula wombsto no death of our wormsand our licking wings;I’ve dreamt no morethan the coquette black rose,and her absinthe skin,wormwood, dead at our feet,to the insomniacocktails of phantasm,setting down the metaphysical poetrythrough my blood-flow, and the paraphernaliaof rocks, incubated with the skull-shapedhills; is it thenso ancient?the last… Read More always.

This night.

summer, pilgrimage of the ewe; the blood sun breaks upon death— is the symmetry of the flower where an ocean throws the moon’s noose, leaving to the knot of a darker azure? dream, and you might too leave in the white rose of lips; sewn a monolith  exchanging, in perfidy, a child at the river… Read More This night.

perfume.

First Draft. Paris, lady’s lipsdeath with us, the perfumeplumbs the sun tothe tulle limbs of flowers, outstretchedbeneath the bloated darkthat bleeds. Recall the icein black roses, the sweetnessof your lipsto fallen last breaths. Final Draft.  Perfume from the bloodlustand silent tributary of fallen tears—oscillation; amputationfrom the wombintrudes to the shorea coquette,my petal of death.Winter alone, I… Read More perfume.

Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 6 Part II.

She grappled his face. “You don’t get to say shit like that. Not after this fucked off day. You can go fuck off too if you keep saying that.”

“I’ve never seen you so sentimental.”

“It’s not like you’d remember,” Lauren sighed, only now feeling how sweated up her tank-top had become.

“Ouch. Low blow.”… Read More Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 6 Part II.

I leave in a deeper silence.

Death among a void,             existence into the throatof the flowers; but what is it aboutthe death of verse and proseinto the saurian rocks             and night of memorynot myself? Quiet as baby’s breath.             The fall of manis a rarity from fear and falsity             but as poetically a delusionto capture in the snow like a child;I reach to open my eyes             to… Read More I leave in a deeper silence.

“Echo” by Jo Kolar.

Potential trigger warning: This poem may have references to acts of self-harm. An echo.That vibrates in a soundless roomThat nicks the wallsThat stains the tubThat crumples the sheetsBut leaves me aloneExcept for the scar on my cheekThe things I do to myselfI don’t know why. To check out more of Jo Kolar’s work, go here.