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Literature Text
in the end,
toes wiggle
off the ledge
and wings
grow
as water
approaches
toes wiggle
off the ledge
and wings
grow
as water
approaches
![01 LOONA [ SW ] HEADER / template 'by jungrainsoul](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/3f3c6ff8-e85a-4d69-806d-3787ff47212b/df7e48p-919b8add-bebc-4ce6-bf92-093b38efe4ad.png/v1/fill/w_700,h_233,q_70,strp/01_loona___sw___header___template__by_jungrainsoul_by_jungrainsoul_df7e48p-350t.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NDI3IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvM2YzYzZmZjgtZTg1YS00ZDY5LTgwNmQtMzc4N2ZmNDcyMTJiXC9kZjdlNDhwLTkxOWI4YWRkLWJlYmMtNGNlNi1iZjkyLTA5M2IzOGVmZTRhZC5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTI4MCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.1kBBqcRY0iblzRuebc0bzdarLF5BucVzSaY8toiawD0)
Literature
Hollow
Here amidst the bones bleached white,
the echoes become trapped in ribcages
like a heartbeat.
But it’s just a sound.
No blood pumps through the
marrow thick like
baby’s breath-
flowers for someone who is sick or dying or
dead.
No light shines
under the skin and muscle.
How dark it must be for the
delicate, fleshy bits underneath.
The lungs don’t know when it’s time to
go. No moon to guide them.
How do they know when to
stop?
Does the heart even know the color
of blood?
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
Reykjavik For Lezayre
so slip, i stumble. fumble with the
doorknob and your key falls with me
im falling into - there you are
i see you in
these ports and the sea foam shades
of the fog that parts at dawn the day
before i find myself - here you are
i want to be left alone but -
it was the taste, salty and too sweet
it was too much and my tongue
is not appeasing or the tricks
that tease -
come close. still this one last time
there’s something underneath your
skin steady i want
inside
you - to see, how i memorize you
in every gasp that splits the air around
us and when you cum - crashing
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when I was a kid I thought that a certain species of bird were all my dead ancestors, and that I would turn into a bird when I died. if you know me irl you'll know why 
contemplating taking the first line out. doesn't really do much for the poem, no? any thoughts?
NaPoWriMo day 18
contemplating taking the first line out. doesn't really do much for the poem, no? any thoughts?
NaPoWriMo day 18
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Comments2
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On the contrary, I think he first line is very important to interpretation of this poem. "End" connotes death for me, so to have the first line makes this poem about an afterlife, metaphorically or not. Alternately, without the first line, I would read it simply as an image, a story, a lovely little thought with less context; something more general. Those were my impressions; I suppose whether or not you'd want to keep the introductory line depends on intention 