Please check out our friends websites on our LINKS page. If you have any comments or questions, please EMAIL US.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ALL THE MUSIC AND ARTWORK ON THIS WEBSITE IS DISPLAYED UNDER A
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ALL THE MUSIC AND ARTWORK ON THIS WEBSITE IS DISPLAYED UNDER A
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE
Your Neck:
The winding, upward curl of smoke off of a honey
wax candle, bright with memory against an inky sky.
Your neck, adorned rightly by the pieces of muted
aurulent light raining from a late October afternoon.
The funneled tail of a cirrus cloud, after the wind
has gone and swiped her fingers through it's
bosom.
Your neck, wispy and white as it offers your fulgent
head-full of wise stories from ancient ceremonies.
The curve in a bow, made for a concert violin,
attached tautly to horse hair that when asked will
cantillate.
Your neck, and its pulsing throat, who beats
tribally as you answer to me, full of your honeyed
emotion.
The woven but pulling sinew of a beaver stick,
suspended partially by a bolder, in a voluptous
stream.
Your neck, as it turns, you looking over your
shoulder with trenchant eyes, that need to know
my posture.
The smooth, sinuous volcanic bed beneath the
Klickatat River, beaten and blue with tracks of
tearful time.
Your neck, as it lays cerulean and still in your
shadowy bed, swept up against your arm, resting
in vain.
The winding, upward curl of smoke off of a honey
wax candle, bright with memory against an inky sky.
Your neck, adorned rightly by the pieces of muted
aurulent light raining from a late October afternoon.
The funneled tail of a cirrus cloud, after the wind
has gone and swiped her fingers through it's
bosom.
Your neck, wispy and white as it offers your fulgent
head-full of wise stories from ancient ceremonies.
The curve in a bow, made for a concert violin,
attached tautly to horse hair that when asked will
cantillate.
Your neck, and its pulsing throat, who beats
tribally as you answer to me, full of your honeyed
emotion.
The woven but pulling sinew of a beaver stick,
suspended partially by a bolder, in a voluptous
stream.
Your neck, as it turns, you looking over your
shoulder with trenchant eyes, that need to know
my posture.
The smooth, sinuous volcanic bed beneath the
Klickatat River, beaten and blue with tracks of
tearful time.
Your neck, as it lays cerulean and still in your
shadowy bed, swept up against your arm, resting
in vain.
Static:
Things are hitting hard lately.
There is something in the air,
So organic, it is unfamiliar
Enough to be alarming, and
Completely undeniable.
Like static in my blood.
At day I awake, and my mind
Is burning. My heart pumps sorrow.
I want this all to stop but know that it
Will not, will not;
The jolt is mid-sweep.
Fire runs a-folly.
Car door blown off. Cancer.
A horn that won't silence.
Boiling water erupting. Spew and
flood...
People falling down. Bodies breaking.
My body wanting, not slowing down.
Next hit, please. The game.
Oh Me. Dreams of delicious can't
haves.
Heart wasted. Sky Gods laughing.
And I am, only really seen,
By but one human alive. Yes.
Inhale me, then spit.
Who cares? I'll stretch.
Things are hitting hard lately.
There is something in the air,
So organic, it is unfamiliar
Enough to be alarming, and
Completely undeniable.
Like static in my blood.
At day I awake, and my mind
Is burning. My heart pumps sorrow.
I want this all to stop but know that it
Will not, will not;
The jolt is mid-sweep.
Fire runs a-folly.
Car door blown off. Cancer.
A horn that won't silence.
Boiling water erupting. Spew and
flood...
People falling down. Bodies breaking.
My body wanting, not slowing down.
Next hit, please. The game.
Oh Me. Dreams of delicious can't
haves.
Heart wasted. Sky Gods laughing.
And I am, only really seen,
By but one human alive. Yes.
Inhale me, then spit.
Who cares? I'll stretch.
Starry Skin:
Inhale and atoms of you
Laden in earthen musk,
Souse my limbs.
Gobs of your wilderness
Dress my curve and seduce.
My million pecking stars,
Knit together by chance
Surround your naked skin.
Warm and pulsing like
Hot honey in your head.
Lost and gone to reason,
I devour mouthfuls
With a musing tongue and
Eager lips; quivering for your
Flooded, fiery flesh.
Swallow your breath,
With trenchant eyes,
I taste your life, as
Your feverish lightening rod,
Ignites inside of me.
Inhale and atoms of you
Laden in earthen musk,
Souse my limbs.
Gobs of your wilderness
Dress my curve and seduce.
My million pecking stars,
Knit together by chance
Surround your naked skin.
Warm and pulsing like
Hot honey in your head.
Lost and gone to reason,
I devour mouthfuls
With a musing tongue and
Eager lips; quivering for your
Flooded, fiery flesh.
Swallow your breath,
With trenchant eyes,
I taste your life, as
Your feverish lightening rod,
Ignites inside of me.
Inside Disguise:
Damp mossy walls;
Brick lay diagonally on brick,
Rounding into an ancient
Yearning fount-shaft.
Lichens cling peevishly,
Marking hundreds of years
Of zealous cloak and dagger,
Echoing drips, and drops.
Of gossip fit for Queens, or
Slaves of rapturous fervor.
Laden in dirt and lies,
Capturing slight of hand and heart.
Penetrating and endless decent,
Defines the direction of my,
Emptiness and an unquantifiable
Emotion of my soul’s lost echo.
Damp mossy walls;
Brick lay diagonally on brick,
Rounding into an ancient
Yearning fount-shaft.
Lichens cling peevishly,
Marking hundreds of years
Of zealous cloak and dagger,
Echoing drips, and drops.
Of gossip fit for Queens, or
Slaves of rapturous fervor.
Laden in dirt and lies,
Capturing slight of hand and heart.
Penetrating and endless decent,
Defines the direction of my,
Emptiness and an unquantifiable
Emotion of my soul’s lost echo.
Alaya Wyndham-Price
Alaya also writes a wine review column for
grapelive.com
grapelive.com
 |  |  |  |