Dry Chaconne
the air was parched the earth in drought when you left me
thinking of Lorca the desire of the rain remembrance
of the earth the smooth earth when it rains has a scent
as you did when you came to me in splinters
a weight of longing a turning wheel straining the fibres
of your countenance blurred visions flecks of silvering light
the smallest gestures of your eyes arabesque, interlacing
rhythmic in the shimmering air shivers of electric blue
a tapestry of shadow layers of ice melting
the rain falling the desire of the rain a memory
of the earth in Lorca shards falling
splinters of rain the dry earth around me
our ritual gestures fragility of longing the suffering
of the rain in the chasms of your eyes an infinite waiting
for the simplest things infinite light infinite heat
a daze of deep yellow layers of ice melting
a tapestry of shadow the unsparing earth
the rain in Lorca the fibres of your eyes
all the fevers of the seas
as you wish
line bright with horizon
golden residues of day
α hours of the dwindling warmth
β warmth of the dwindling hours
γ dwindling warmth of the hours
dwindling sadness of the river
shoreline bright with stone
glistening time under starry moonlight
now quiet, all is becoming
Delta Oscillations
iterate
calm stream of aporetic present
oblivion of sleep
dreams grow more lively after dawn
close your peepers
reiterate
brief moments of gloss contentment
needs of obsidian
sleep will wash you with slow waves
night will keep us
November 29th, 2020
The Dirty Truth About Butterflies
It’s easy for a religiously bred
(misled) girl to make an Eden of
a garden, angels of winged soon dead,
repopulating in three weeks. But love’s
amino acids butterflies won’t find
in agapanthus nectar, waterfalls —
Continue reading “Womannotated – The Dirty Truth About Butterflies”
September 19th, 2020:
Weeping Trees
Follow creek through the weeping trees until
it narrows and you cross with ease. Keep mum
along the rivulet cascading still
through thicket of thorns you will not succumb.
Continue reading “Womannotated – Weeping Trees”
August 16th, 2020
(Content warning: horror, death, suicide, some discussion of Midsommar with what could be considered general, mild spoilers)
Death In The Air
A scent in twilight past breaths of the beast
who stalks the edges of forests on the
phalanges of feet, quickening heartbeats
of little lost girls, panting in pine trees
near the end of the world. Pale hirsute ear
you peer where the needles are bare. Eyes straight
ahead, mutter pieces of prayers. Fear
Contrapuntal: In Which We Swallow Insects While Contemplating Environmental Apocalypse
Continue reading “Two Poems by Beth Gordon”
Escapes
I remember
the rocks hot under
my skin, black sun-glistened
flecks in sugar-almond stone,
rush of foam-tinged
sparkling water, the pull back
of waves fizzing sand.
Traces
As slow as the breathing
of the ancient giant
long said to sleep beneath
our town’s tallest hill,
snow piled up that week
against the edge
of pine needled forest floor,
then fell back like a cold ocean tide.
“Man & Nature I” (2018)
This met me upon entering the dispensation in Harare where my aunt purchases chicken parts for the butcher shop. Everyone in the shop was amused at my fascination with this goat (ox?) head on the counter; I was reminded how very little I know about where my American meat comes from.
February 29th 1933
The saddest thing for the English to bear, is not what they have lost, but instead
what they know has not yet been found, but is nevertheless enduring in the shadows.
– Derrick Adderage
The house has slid here
to this wide street-middle; it floats
like a dark ship on smooth wet tarmac; it splits
the road that seems to flow slowly
either side of it.
The houses lining the street shrink
as this one house inflates
with where it came from.
15:20 backlit wisps and railroad tracks in the sky. flashes of starlings’ wingtips. I look at the river too long, and now see it every time I blink. Continue reading “Writing A Winter Sunset by Oliver Cable”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 