tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post4095405636390651847..comments2013-04-24T00:09:22.719-04:00Comments on APPLE, WORD, KISS: Only Blue Body by Rosalynde Vas DiasKatie Riegelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04172076209559447620noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-48850840511907765762013-04-21T23:18:00.997-04:002013-04-21T23:18:00.997-04:00Everything Gold
Coral Nardandrea
He lay down in a...Everything Gold<br />Coral Nardandrea<br /><br />He lay down in a hollow.<br />His skin was pale under clothes.<br />Is he eating silver? <br />Is he gold and white?<br />Inside the shade, he is <br />not hollow, but swollen,<br />holding a spoonful of gold.<br />The gold changed, becoming white and distant.<br />Don’t you ever get lonely?<br /><br />She looked for him there,<br />unmade from herself, swoop of inked line.<br />His listener nods the slow and long motion,<br />though his eyes suddenly seem erased.<br />How is it she’s never noticed before?<br />Does he feel he is always being born?<br />Someone to remember him:<br />her face, half intent, human.<br /><br />But like her,<br />this was a divisionary lie.<br />No wonder his silence<br />barely contains him.<br />It sometimes seems <br />she’s just briefly resting, reeled out <br />to nap as one reels out laundry.<br />You shouldn’t stare at her, not while he’s standing there.<br />He lifts her, shoulders straining back,<br /><br />wielding a paint brush.<br />Artificial becomes artful.<br />But that’s not a memory.<br />These aren’t that kind.<br /><br />A cold morning.<br />There was paper stuffed <br />in the window frames. <br />It takes all afternoon<br />to see it clearly--the dark back,<br />the blue that dead bones should be.<br />The mirror reflects the small spinning, <br />everything gold. The part <br />that seemed real--<br />Is it not visible?<br />Gold, throated bodies <br />playing airplane.<br />They hung from the rafters <br />by ribbon.<br />Coral Nardandreahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05851629735578946967noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-77037873195969040302013-04-20T22:19:08.357-04:002013-04-20T22:19:08.357-04:00Don't You Ever Get Lonely? By Donna Walker
A ...Don't You Ever Get Lonely? By Donna Walker<br /><br />A Cento After Rosalynde Vas Dias’ Only Blue Body<br /><br /><br />Oh!<br />You used to be<br />a small, unbearable itching.<br />White and purple as a frozen puddle.<br /><br />What is this<br />in the photograph?<br />Silver paths of frozen boot prints,<br />mercury white?<br /><br />The light is a kind of phosphorescent milk…<br />yourself, very small,<br />dreaming of being<br />a reflection.<br /><br />At night I’d try to feel<br />saffron. A gentle hand.<br />Goodbye, Goodbye.<br />The gold changed, becoming white and distant.<br /><br />Can I say it is a memory?<br />Is he eating silver? Is he marching?<br />Speeding away from the source—<br />combing the earth.<br /><br />No wonder his silence.<br />As if he lived within a mirror,<br />his back to me<br />for the first time.<br /><br /><br />Donna Walkerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14246704321761894816noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-26547031476059244782013-04-18T13:32:23.415-04:002013-04-18T13:32:23.415-04:00Rán Gone Fishing
Chlöe Sweetman
The sky turns so...Rán Gone Fishing <br />Chlöe Sweetman<br /><br />The sky turns soapy, the air bends <br />down, inert in that desert <br />under the dark water. Silence, <br />as if he lived <br />within a mirror, temporal <br />silver bubbles caught here and there. <br /><br />He is so still, dark <br />purple, black purple,<br />a parcel of flesh, porous <br />and also organic. His cracked <br />ribs are just visible, his knuckles <br />mercury white. <br /><br />Gold, his gift of penance. <br /><br />At his growing softness <br />she lifts him from his place. Soon <br />he will split. She holds him <br />up to her lips – a face. Human. <br />Her blue eyes turn <br />blue, the blue that dead <br />bones should be. <br /><br />Chloehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09227638954935789484noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-46374229869411912602013-04-18T01:19:26.249-04:002013-04-18T01:19:26.249-04:00Longing By Yelena Sanchez
A Cento After Rosaly...Longing By Yelena Sanchez <br /><br />A Cento After Rosalynde Vas Dias’ Only Blue Body<br /><br /><br />In the mirror, I am merely a woman, with breasts, the too-large nose, mouth, eyes. There seemed little choice. <br /><br />I used to be captain of my own ship. I stared at it forever. Long ago, he fell into the brown rot of the forest.<br /><br />In my dreams, a man asking, Don’t you ever get lonely? Maybe I am. <br /><br />Alone and lonely in my attic room, a light on all night will draw him. But standing in the dark, he is a plum. <br /><br />His good aroma, his growing softness. His skin barely contains him. Maybe I am a woman in love, <br /><br />or maybe I am delirious. Inside, I would die for that, if I touched him, where sun touched<br /><br />lines that curved. He was silence, a book closed upon itself. Illusion.<br /><br />Can I say it is a memory? We got along because it was fiction. He is mine because I hide him, <br /><br />folded like a paper fan largely in my dreams, sad when one is longing.<br /><br />*Line breaks were altered by publication, sorry :( <br /><br />Y.A.Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15279464901316683482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-56241604910912873172013-04-17T17:58:09.819-04:002013-04-17T17:58:09.819-04:00Rebellion by Evan Goetz
(Cento created from poems ...Rebellion by Evan Goetz<br />(Cento created from poems in Rosalynde Vas Dias’ Only Blue Body)<br /><br />The moon tonight is so white,<br />holding a spoonful<br />of gold he never gave<br />to me, the fire small<br />in his pupils.<br />I’ve always wanted<br />dark eyes without light.<br />I would die <br />for that.<br /><br />In that church<br />my disguise is full<br />of holes.<br />Wait ‘til it breaks.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Drunken noises<br />of approval follow.<br />Artificial becomes artful.<br />Sirgoetzalothttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17055096267409761572noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-38277474477208230622013-04-17T17:47:18.157-04:002013-04-17T17:47:18.157-04:00Gone Sailing Without Me- A Cento Compiled from Ros...Gone Sailing Without Me- A Cento Compiled from Rosalynde Vas Dias’ “Only Blue Body”<br /> Ben Carter<br /><br />A book closed upon itself<br />in the snow woods.<br />Water, freezing, broke the mountain upward.<br />Below that, a mile or more, green pastures.<br />The cold flags under your feet<br />cold glass against your cold fingers<br />spool dizzy and loosing substance<br />the snow piled up to either side of silver paths of frozen boot prints<br /><br />the blue bug light<br />was hit by a car<br /><br />The beetle’s left elystron snapped off cleanly and fit the tip of my tongue like the husk of a popcorn kernel<br />At the puncture itself, no pain:<br />juice and veined golden flesh<br />The oriole pecking the flesh, keeping one eye fastened to you<br />nodding in recognition<br />little wren, all anthropomorphic;<br />a furnace, orange, pulsing like a living carnelian<br /><br />Goodbye, Goodbye, my voice protesting, the voice mute, thinking<br />the last wooden cup I made is right now drying on the dish rack <br /><br />A spring night, already hot<br />at the center of each nucleus, pollen gold<br /><br />When I was born, the small spinning everything was gold.<br />My eyes are huge—liquid and empty of pupils.<br />step up into the white noise<br />My disguise is full of holes<br /><br /><br />The color of an anchor doesn’t matter<br />The ship is gone sailing on without me<br />running over water, skidding—there’s an oil skim—purple-green weeps out and it’s down<br />a barrier.<br />The sheet laid down over wreckage.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09279215589180360190noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-88885866134147469732013-04-17T17:38:44.806-04:002013-04-17T17:38:44.806-04:00Transformation Explained – Cento Compiled from Ros...Transformation Explained – Cento Compiled from Rosalynde Vas Dias’ “Only Blue Body”<br /><br />You’d never survive out there<br />with no visible alteration. <br /><br />Walking through the black trees <br />holding a spoonful of gold <br />you mean no harm,<br />you offer only sweetness. <br /><br />Yourself, very small,<br />hands folded, eyes far-off looking<br /><br />idly gazing out at the crisp<br />skeletons of living or once-<br />living material. <br />You understood by seeing. <br /><br />Some died. Then many.<br />The Shadow recalling the Source. <br /><br />Imagine holding a beautiful object <br />and see the needles, individual,<br />on the evergreens, and marks on the rocks,<br />marks that show where they cleaved <br /><br />in a panic. Back in the body<br />by accident in a panic.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15762933428889290511noreply@blogger.com