The Sculptor’s Purgatory

At the annex of marble throat and jaw
a chisel devours its quarry,
where mute voices swell
against deaf stone
and the unseen gem
beats a cold tone,
there in the sculptor’s purgatory.

© 2019 Stellular Scribe

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Hereafter

He holds the arms of the fever,
the wrath of the water,
and their bodies are enlarged with dreams.

They are the bodies of crushed marble,
gold, amber bone extraction,
the raw materials behind the Hereafter,
when the Nile remained in the luster of Lebanon.

A gem of her old light
softens the tongue of its severity.
And he, the only poet in the night sky
kisses her collapsed face
to taste tomorrow binding.

© 2019 Stellular Scribe

Vine and Sand

he shed a line of crystalline notes
each incandescent half-step
more unexpected than the last

a high, winding vine
creeping from an unseen branch
tendrils tendering my neck
taking root within my chest

his melody sweeps into a golden desert
of glass sand and endless thirst
and hot wind slipping in and out of me

I spin on burning soles
to avoid his lashes
I claw at the constricting song
to breathe again

© 2018 Stellular Scribe

Your Body Brought the Sea

Your body brought the sea to my bed,
cloaking me as the rushed arch of a wave,
a tide suspended,
unable to break.

Grabbing onto you is like running
my fingers through the wet of a storm.

Despite the salt and surf,
you are not cold —
quivering with mammalian heat against my chest,
holding with arms of fever
and hurricane infection.

I swim for hours.
I never drown.

© 2018 Stellular Scribe