Category: dVerse
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Quadrille #96
Fevered It’s a fevered dream, you stumble sidewise into a wild place, and you think, God, don’t let me die here, not now, not here, and you ignore that you’re feeling very small, and half ruined, and that’s when your fever breaks into rain. for dVerse Quadrille #96 “Wild” ©️ Misky 2019
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dVerse Quadrille #94
That Small and Darkest There what angers streams to overflow and flood to mud like clouds that drown the sky. and what causes a small lake to rage and fume inky volcanic ash. this roar from darkest age. and there we stood, mud stuck to our shoes. there. standing. for dVerse Quadrille #94…
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dVerse Prosery #7
She never sleeps on her back. Her wings, you know, her wings. Curves in a Sparrow’s Voice Bedlam’s silencing her sawtooth edges, her bark and howl, but it can’t bend curves into a sparrow’s voice that’s cracked and shattered like bird seed. Listen to the wind against the windows, rattling like loose teeth. Wind blowing…
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dVerse Poetics
Ivy As if three suns shine on me, I grow that fast. Groping the fence, I climb razor cuts into the bark of trees, spread like a summer wind, or fire across the coolness of soil. Sticking to willows, weeding up the house, scarring brick like sin on a soul. I’m a … tangled Medusa.…
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Day 25
My old bones stopped me playing the piano, and nowadays I sleep on my left side – my right hip can’t take the pressure, and sometimes I feel my heart beat fragile as lose silver thread, and every morning I love seeing that single autumn leaf still clinging to its branch. And not all is…
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20 November 2019
MQ20: I Must Be Mistaken My mother was a kind of wildness. A kind of smoke from a burning bush. Not THE Burning Bush, although as a girl I thought she was. In reality, she was a concussion from banging her head against a brick wall (or so she said, or nearly so). And I…
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PA05 and dVerse
PA 05 A Crow’s Pleasure black crow with its patent leather shine, snagged a brown shrew on its cold hook grab. carried it off under fatal wings, carried it off on ragged winds. heard its final yip, its faded death call. waxen stiff its small wordless voice. up high, even higher, over a black slow…
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MQ 05 and dVerse
MQ 05.1: Gypsy Moon T’was cool and dry as ancient silk, and bright as a lunar pearl. Its light poured into rooms, disowning all it touched. That moon shined on like a new religion, keeper of all I knew. By day it tucked away sheltered in my bed. MQ 05.2 We disappointed him. He…
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dVerse Questions
Where can you find a bell that will ring in your dreams? – by Pablo Neruda Old world bells ring on the hour, half hour, and quarter hour, they ring for weddings, for funerals, on Saints’ days, for feast or fast, for mass and … the bells want the sky to howl — to…
It's Still Life 