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~ruffienne

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poem1  Feathered dark eyes and a long slope  to velvet lips and snout, grotesquely  
expressive, nosing pockets for food.  
The face, if white or black, skeletal,  
bears the Impostor; his high head, mouth  
foaming with effort or evil  
or effort against evil, not  
to follow  
the reins.   
2 The hair and musk  
rise in the sun;  
the path stretches dust  
between the ears, goes on.  
Then a knee and a heel, a rumbling through the ground  
the rocking forward-thudding back, the timeless  cantering to the end, the horizon and over.   
Then over is a st poem
by ~ruffienne
you must singYou must sing to be found; when found, you must sing.  -Li-Young Lee   
Those weeks when you stand at the mirror, your face harrowed; those days and hours, your pulse clawing at a tight angry eel living below the heart, between the lungs. And how you try to throw him out, your dinghy solid enough but tipped by this storm-scaled weight.  You try to drown him, to leave his knife-edge gills with nothing to sift air from. Convulse and heave over the sink, pail out the water by rivulet and stream. Your knuckles stiffen with splinters and your face swells in the mirror.  
You curl on the deck, the fish circling. You stand a you must sing
by ~ruffienne
IrelandEire; the country, not the element  (though the element, if any, might lend itself  to the way the country isn't)  the country I can only see  from the plane window, from the prospective,  its green and undeniable life  a far cry  from anything it';s been   
or anything I've seen  so as I consider the quartered potatoes on my plate,  I'm also considering the wet soil  once around them, and the heavy shoulders  of my ancestors, laboring out to the fields,  thankful for whatever their earth  could give. Ireland
by ~ruffienne
marathonI see you on the screen    you see me  we see each other  you’re propped up on the tip of your elbow, and  
I repeat “do you like my hair” twice  “my connection is weird” you apologize   
I nod and wave it away  start to think about the billions of pixels  
making up your face    the hallway out your door  
and the very white page I’m writing on  running their weary track on the hyper-super-highway  little Marathons running and running   
bursting forth on a screen, rushing forth with the  great importanc marathon
by ~ruffienne
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