Smoking Cigarettes after Noon


*image found HERE

Smoking Cigarettes after Noon

what most call touch
is thistle;
a layer among the layers
silent in the bedrock.
Machine language,
viral like soil,
like ripples in a soup.
Wait for the dead to fall asleep,
swipe the sweat of their brow with cashmere.
is a taught persistence.
Names –
a ritual of needless
in the effigy’s spine.
Gulp. Gurgle. Gush.
Teach yourself to swallow a whole cherry.
Heart – spindle;
sentient pump,
bones of a comatose river,
it will tell what it may.
Whoever hears it
will unhinge their hands like a gateway,
prop you on their tongue
like butterscotch
like all throats are a lament
of an ocean’s feverish rage;
you will be taught
which and what cannot be green,
what can’t be red;
what to say, who can be held
and you will watch
how what most call touch
is thistle.

5 responses to “Smoking Cigarettes after Noon”

  1. Oh! This is so so good. In awe of this line: “like all throats are a lament/of an ocean’s feverish rage”.

    1. Thank you very much for reading, HA! Need to catch up on your writing asap. Hope you are well ❤

  2. You have a wonderful way with words!

    1. I guess its about listening to them without the need to correct them. Thank you very much for reading! ❤

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About Me

I don’t mind the sun sometimes,
the images it shows,
I can taste you on my lips
and feel you in my clothes.
Cinnamon and sugary
and softly spoken lies,
you never know just how you look
through other people’s eyes


Colour me in Cayenne & Chlorine Poetry Collection
Suburban Witchcraft Magazine
Colour me in Cyanide and Cherries Poetry Collection

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