urdumbstruckbaby

[urdumbstruckbaby]

clippings from february / march 2022

2/11/2022 i think What I've been looking or hoping for My whole life, has been some sort of light. Did I look in spite of my previous walk with that god, Or did I just not find it along that way?

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3/1/2022 be kind, we are all on the edge of shattering.

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3/17/2022 done to death but I'm a trenchcoat fulla crows, babe

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3/30/2022 half-asleep thought Everyone assumes my eyes are about tomorrow.

#clippings #february 2022 #march 2022

[urdumbstruckbaby]

it's all for the archives

It is what it was That fracture of a moment That fractal of a picture Fixed points in time Timeline of a hairline fracture Contents of the skull And there's something to be said For the living curation An ever-evolving, rotating, movement of the scene behind the window(s) Bless that present Guidance for the image being captured that we may see it clearly when we see it next But for the history, leave it intact Do not disturb the mess Leave my misspellings alone It's all part It's all a part It's all apart And if I'm no longer around to tell it, Then I want to be all around to speak it Show it like this Words like that Here it is, here is me That very second These thoughts Those exact feelings And ain't it just... It is what it was.

#poetry #all for the archives #no one in my grad program would be surprised at this

[urdumbstruckbaby]

clippings from december 2021 / january 2022

12/22/2021 leaving home Everybody talks about leaving home when it's the home you started your life in Fewer talk about leaving home when it's the home you'd always wanted and were setting down roots for

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1/25/2022 additional notes on one of my favorite pieces of architecture I could eat you UP I would EAT STONE I would CHIP my TEETH on MARBLE and BRASS and wipe the GLASS and CRYSTAL shards from my mouth after CONSUMING EVERY TIFFANY LIGHT ATTACHED TO A CEILING

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1/29/2022 predictive The best feeling is to die in the morning when you are in the living sun

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1/31/2022 this is how This is how I make it through Stone heart Tender-faced: I begin to grieve Before the loss officially arrives, weather-worn at my front door. The shock is less damaging that way.

#clippings #december 2021 #january 2022 #lot of chaos and moving parts so not much in the way of writing

[urdumbstruckbaby]

clippings from november 2021

11/12/2021 according to new york law The sea is a godless realm.

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11/23/2021 bats in the attic, ghosts in the Gallery.

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11/28/2021 is there a song that talks of your soldiers lost in war? Eating at the big Mess Hall in the sky

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11/29/2021 Phoenixing? If this is yet another death it is a particularly long death. If this is ashes I am the remains of a forest fire that has yet to be contained.

#clippings #november 2021

[urdumbstruckbaby]

clippings from october 2021

10/9/2021 absurdism? Wherein I stare so long at a cruise ship leaving the sound that I laser it with my eyes and it explodes

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10/25/2021 astro poets say "Every light is on. Don't turn them off yet."

#clippings #october 2021

[urdumbstruckbaby]

i hold few things in reverence these days except the cycle of the lights.

Because I was up all night, again, I was putzing around my apartment, flitting from task to task at 15 past 7 in the morning. The last time I witnessed sunrise was in January, but the way my apartment sits is better suited for sunsets. The only hint of daybreak I get is from the cityscape and the lake and the bay out the living room window waking up under bluer, brighter light. But I was about to make the fifth trip in the last five minutes from the kitchen down the hallway, and I noticed actual sunlight against the northern-facing blinds, so I sat on the arm of Grampa's old chair and peeked through them with a sideways peace sign, looking East just for fun. I didn't expect to see the sun. I ended up catching the morning blinding coming through the trees half a block up, butter yellow and bathing. Some kind of holy-- no, not holy; holy presupposes a fear, a trembling, like, Sure, a reverence, but a shaking one, full of anxiety-- this light was peace, I guess. Which is unknowable, so how do I know? But that's the best thing to call it for now. Fuck your holy. Call it sacred: something to protect, not to bow down before, but to live with, and in. A daybreak, a morning. I didn't expect to see the sun.

#poetry #listening to the new BRM and so of course i'm in this kind of mood

[urdumbstruckbaby]

for a lion's jaw

I just want to be strong for you to be your height if not slightly taller be able to lift you at least a few inches off the ground in a happy embrace hold you in my arms, lead and glide you all across a dance floor and into a dip with no fear be better at fixing things, at making things, with my hands Defend you with my body when you ask for another energy beside you Encircle you when you need someone else's wings ...to do all the things you'd desire of a man, for you. "O that I were a man" etc etc— the first time in my life i have wished for the strength we know as, we hope is, a man— but not the first time i have wished for muscle in these arms, for strength in these legs, for a sure grip in these hands. I will never know if i could have had that but if i had been grown naturally like my brother, i might have had the potential for a body that could endure. I never had that chance. I have known myself and been known to be delicate petite fragile Breakable i see myself, usesless. I have tried to correct it, but glass infuses every bone and tendon— covered o'er me like a quilt of pastels— and i am wrecked. i am a wreck. i am small. i am too small to function, let alone to champion. I don't even know what you truly want, and I don't want to fall into the trap of a binary groove, but I just want to be strong for you. I want to be some of your strength, as you have been some of mine, so that I can learn how to lift myself up and out of hell and lift you off the ground at the same time, in the same life, even if only by a few inches.

#poetry #my angst-by-poetry has returned to the internet

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 18: the center of the house

Track it back. Here, storage. Last place, the foot of the bed. Before that, vertical electric wall furnace. Before that, the crossroads of hallways. Before that, it stretched from the kitchen to the back corner of the garage. Before that, the landing. Before that, another landing. Before that, in between two extra-long twin beds. Before that, the laundry room my mom designed herself. Take it back. First, it was wherever my dog slept, and whatever spot of summer sun my cat could find, the raspberries in full stock in July, the view over the back fence to the gorge foothills to the south, the hometree outside my window. Then, the rooftop next door. Then, half the second floor. Then, my bed. Then, my other bed. Then, the whole place, to ourselves. Ours. Then, our room. Then, the living room. Another ours. Then, three-hundred square feet of mine. Now, it's every west-facing window. Back. Rinsing raspberries in the sink. Wisteria hanging over the front porch. Chirps from the birdfeeder. Love across the hall. Your sigh against my collarbone. A balance between two. Blossoms on a tree in the front. The greenery all around. Walking to rehearsal because we could. My own, I could breathe. It smelled like tall ceilings could allow for more dust to float around. Now, the rose gold bulb, and the promise of shining blues and open doors leading to who knows where. In it all, the sun the sun the sun my love, the sun

#napowrimo 2021 #poemcrazy prompt

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 17: set

The windows in the living room are open to the sunset as we welcome the uncannily perfect spring weather. The light behind the mountains is clear and blended, from fire into the first step of space. I've been taking a picture of the sunset at least every other day since March, and the last one I caught featured the Poet's Siren: a waxing crescent Selene. The phase of light and shadow under which I was born, silver sliver of wonder against an uninhibited cyc of muted royal blue. Far above the jagged scenic cutouts of the Olympic peaks, she means a sign to me. Waves in my chest voice, depths in my head, heights in my breath-- my hand is open, palm up to the ceiling. The song is second to last and there's a faint glow heating my limbs. Stars say I'm a Sun sun, but I've always felt more awake after dusk. There is a small power in conjunction with this. A small power, and a small peace; I feel like sharing. So, come with me where they hang the lights, because I promise you-- who has probably seen and done almost everything where you're from-- you haven't seen this. Not from here, not this magic real, not exactly this.

#napowrimo 2021 #moon prompt #i'm the moooooon

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 16: no one else for the sunset

First spring glass of wine and everything is fine. Not waiting for my sign, not drawing a straight line to what cannot be mine. I'll try to make the time and not push for a crime You can't be where I am I will not force the light to shine you into sight. You've not my appetite, not another overnight, but hold you all the same; no active candle flame, but warmth to calm me tame. You know my name, a lovely frame. I ramble on and sigh to no one at my eye. Deceptive, cry no more--I sigh. My head straight to the wall-- the chair, I stand, I fall-- somehow you know it all. I miss your call. You can't be where I am, I keep you all the same, gentle friend in frame. You know my name, you know my name.

#napowrimo 2021 #skeltonic verse prompt

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 15: some inheritance

When my mother asks a pet a question, or scolds them for something they did wrong, she replies for them, in a voice she makes up, nasally and pouting. Now I have these kinds of conversations, but not just with pets, but also with inanimate objects. The objects are quiet. My father, the only lawyer I have known to not be rich, always had a thoroughly messy desk, papers and paperweights and pens scattered everywhere. Normally the picture of my weirdly organized yet perpetually cluttered mind, this is the cleanest my desk has ever been, but chaos still creeps in.

#napowrimo 2021 #parent habits prompt

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 14: multitudes

It straddles the two genders my parents believe are the only ones to exist. It's Romanian, Czech, Slovak, German, Hebrew, Bulgarian, Macedonian, English, Persian, Arabic. Every definition is short and straightforward, opposite of how I tend to operate. I'm mostly some variation on a proper noun or other name, but in a few languages I am wise. I'm from Denmark. God is my judge, and I'm paying no mind to the sentences I'm racking up in the sky. I'm distantly related to the dignified river between Jordan and Israel which was given by God. I'm an oath to God. I'm the German spelling. I remember someone in fifth grade nicknaming me "German pronounciation" when I told them. I'm cold. I'm here. I'm my least favorite season. In the first scrapbook chronicling the first ten years of my life that my mother made, my father had written a timeline for the day I was born. The last entry reads, "Too lively to be an Emily, so we name [me]" and I felt bad reading that for the first time because I knew enough Emilys that always had halos behind their heads. I maintain a feeble light for up ahead and a fear of--and fascination with--the dark. If I belong to god (he/him), if he gave me, if he judges me, make me an angel. Make me a cherubim with all the heads. I would Fall, but bet your Holy Ass I can still fly.

#napowrimo 2021 #name meaning prompt

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 13: nah.

Behind my sternum is a well of water and an empty cavern. All my magnets have lost their opposites, all my threads have seen scissors or come untied on the other end. There's likely a honeycomb built into my ribs, but they stay there. All around the outside of the cage is cobwebs. My skull-- I'm writing and I'm writing and nothing is happening. I feel so full of nothing. I can't even slide down the spiral, so I stay floating. This poem was hand-stitched together with no motor skills. I hate days like this.

#napowrimo 2021 #no prompt #catch-up time #it's just a messy brain day today

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 12: we go back

Your nails do grow faster when you only get cavelight Cave is all you get when morning misses daylight Day turns into quiet into silence when you wake Waking up at punch-out, you creature for your sake Sakes like thesis statements stacking at your door Doors left swinging wide for 500 years or more Moors open for your wandering, grayness of your world Worldlets looming over, now get your knuckles curled Curl up when it's cold outside your cave, but listen here, Hear them reach them when they sing you back from disappear Appear like some great comeback, live up Dandon's scores Scoring out the notes, legato back, the song is yours

#napowrimo 2021 #classical dictionary/historical dictionary of sci-fi prompt #catch-up time

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 11: what comes after

Dear, What I’m guessing is just some large mode of transportation coming from the bay sounds like one of Jupiter’s moons. Every night. The sounds of celestial beings we've never met makes me think of you. Not because I think you're an angel--angels are terrifying if the Bible is to be believed--but because even in the discovery of something far out in a realm beyond our possibility, there is poetry. I find it everywhere. I tell you this because you're one of the few I know who I think could understand it. Hope I'm not interrupting your sleep. Love, ************ Darling, There is poetry here on Earth; in the distances we travel, in what we think we see. But I know you know that. Just a friendly reminder. I know you want me to say that you ground me. I know that I ground you sometimes, and other times I lift you up. I would've thought everything we've ever said in conversation told you as much. We're gonna fly there together, someday, when it's safe again. Or take the train, or drive, if there's time. Let's make time. Don't mistake me, though. I love you, but don't mistake me. Get some sleep. We'll talk again soon enough. Love,

#napowrimo 2021 #letter exchange prompt #catch-up time

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 10: sorry, i'm open

There is a type of lightness-light On an April afternoon When you wake up When you wake up from winter When you wake up from winter And the humming starts again I keep so many things in drawers All over my apartment Because I'm afraid I'll need them all someday I'm sorry for the mess Everything is tall and bigger than me (When this song plays for the first time) There is a type of glow I thought I had back then There it is There it is hiding There it is hiding And you thought your skull was cluttered I keep all my lighters and pens In one place so I can Find them when the words tumble out Or when I need to burn them down Everything is tall and bigger than me Everything is tall and bigger than me Everything is tall and bigger than me Everything is tall and bigger and bigger than me

#napowrimo 2021 #junk drawer song prompt #catch-up time

[urdumbstruckbaby]

day 9: to my love who rides on air currents

I’m saying this here instead of in a thought directly to you because I know you’re still settling in with the old-new. I took your presence here for granted once I arrived. I shouldn’t have ever. I know you have trouble connecting the lines on your palms. I think most of us do, to an extent. It’s not your fault, it’s the weather we were born into. You’ll navigate to a new island soon, you always do. Follow whatever star is brightest-- maybe it doesn’t always have to be True North, or maybe it’s just that True North is in a different place in the sky every night, whether by a hair’s breadth or by a half-dome. Rest easy. Give your lungs time to learn a rhythm again.  You know the world now, you’ll find it again soon enough.

#napowrimo 2021 #no prompt