1. |
||||
|
Currant, the trail starts here under current thunder,
spaded hearts. It’s so constant here, it starts again.
The stereo came in today, it said something
bad news for the plainly naked, I’m out for love,
I’m trying to bring sunlight to your face, well, again.
Out in sun, hug tight, it was here just last, at last.
Currant, fixtures are out again. It must be us,
we forgot to pay for the mustard greens out back.
It’s so constant, we forgot to tell the neighbors
rockets used to fall on this blacktop strip mall island.
I’m trying to make you say “cell phone,” well, again –
me and the balcony crying, well, I just checked.
(let’s start over)
Dear Diary,
Currently I broke her chest barreling her tight
like a species of destroyer that gives too much
when the world is about to collapse like constant
roses, constantly thinking these things, it smells so
lovely when I mosey up and see the fire,
I’m trying love, here, what don’t you get about that?
|
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2. |
Hagia Sophia, Naturally
06:13
|
|||
|
Summer’s as above, when you’re so below,
oh, I don’t envy you there, on the path.
Apart by winter, zeppelins in ink down my thighs
and I was for sale, the markings handbills.
So she delighted in wincing meaning from rhymes
that peddled fortunes, interpretations;
tough luck with dreaming, swore one another.
If there’s a breastwork among the courted, she’d lay
intent upon it, write sedum letters
commanding, and disappointed in what they’d say,
she’d bare them with me, sincere to proofread
“to from until ours wasn’t, it’s okay”
and I asked what she meant,
what it all or anything meant,
and with two fiercely lost eyes, she said
“Hagia Sophia, naturally!”
The TV’s luna, north and to plainly draw muse
from both our pressures, something symbolic
or holy. The hills and my clock alarm refused
but she’d seen something, and pored her journal
so I stole in, not a page was bruised
and I asked what she meant,
what it all or anything meant,
and with two fiercely lost eyes, she said
“Hagia Sophia, naturally!”
A concert blew through our bones and bottles, I’d find
it wasn’t whimsy, and it wasn’t prayer
not that I knew it, but I asked her to be kind
when she related, I still believed it:
“rain in my drink, god. Something’s said for light”
and I asked what she meant,
what it all or anything meant,
and with two fiercely lost eyes, she said
“Hagia Sophia, naturally!”
|
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3. |
55 & 66 (Interstate)
03:06
|
|||
|
Don’t let me breathe over your shoulder
while it’s your turn. It’ll take a while but we’ll
get there eventually if we eat light.
I carry it with me
like “give the drum set, when you’re done, a good kick”
and like a honeysuckle that spills when you’re sick.
That’s the right exit; the girl told about a diner
that served coffee every hour every minute.
We can stock up on fireworks, too.
I carry it with me
like “cry and I’ll take you to strawberry-fest”
and like a national anthem that sits in the chest.
If you open the window a bit, the whole thing
turns into a whistle. We’ll let the rust and the
fences’ end have it, won’t we? Sing it to ‘em!
I carry it with me
like “those are antiques: entrance is around back”
and like destination when you’re up to the neck.
|
||||
The rose constants Ithaca, New York
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roseconstance1999@gmail.com
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