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Spring WatersThis spring blossoms beckon and robins huddle in tire tracks through the late heavy snow— like my pink and white wishes, sun too intermittent, rains cold, and season’s promise uncertain, heart weighted, overdrawn, and wind rattled by all— and withdrawn, so like the warm weather, fear in mother’s mind for the fragile fawn of the future, for the fate of these days, for the waiting— for more robins, how many before the weather turned down, and now so far between wingspans of glimpses. In cold, I quiver, knowing the precarious placeSpring Waters
by ~friskyryski
Softer Breaking PointShe wears her pain on her neck, the chain the one thing she won’t let him take off— and she stands there more naked than she’s been for anyone else, and still it’s not enough— she’s protecting too much. Sometimes it falls open, and that glimpse lingers there until she discovers and snaps that small latch. He soothes her again, afraid of the sight and the sounds, and with locket closed tight, breaking point hit and recovered, he holds her until she can open and empty, bare and ready for this.Softer Breaking Point
by ~friskyryski
Without Jezebels GloryCities fall in a day, and these—tentative structures quiver now, through all falter lines of a heart, my heart that I gave him by a growing percentage against his thirty-five, and who knows who many nights of invalidation with somebody else. And what I’d held falls, unimportant, not even second, just more—into gaping holes that I’d never come out of, because they’d take all I have without noticing it—collapse in on myself, before the pillagers come, before my worth spills out over all those dirty hands. Oh God, why— whyWithout Jezebels Glory
by ~friskyryski
Voice RecitalThe whole time I watch that vase with the multi-colored roses, all one length, quiver as the pianist, turning her own pages, plays the music I'd enjoy without the wailing of the girl in the prom dress.Voice Recital
Between songs of foreign words, which according to the pink-tinged program, are love and nature's bird (beauty saying nothing new), she walks around for water, and how I hate those roses, their overt stems, and that pretentious crimson chalice.
The other piano in the room has oriental symbols and tiny decorative legs, with practicality bearing weight, we
by ~friskyryski
Random Favourites
I Love The WayI love the way the lightning tumolts to the ground instantaneously, not caring where it falls, or when it falls, jumping off the little tiny atoms in the air, pelting downward without a conscience or a thought. I love the way the ground accepts this gesture calmly, sacrificing a bit of invincibility, displaying its mortality to the clouded sky above. I love the way the earth so gently gives in, but does not give up. I love the way the earth and sky are in accordance with balance and unconciously understand the rebound of an explosion to the degree of a bolt of lighting that hits the ground.I Love The Way
Then, when the damage is done, and the
by =soundlessw
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- Current Residence: United States
- Website: http://www.rykki.com
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