Alex, la trobairitz

I do not take any calls except from the century we are in when there is no bible in my hotel room it makes me sad to have no place to put my filthy poems for future guests it is important to let them know everyone should burn with abandon as soon as the heat is available be a self-styled alarm clock no one can shut off be the storm Love places in someone's home are you sure we can handle this because I am absolutely certain c'mon wind knock us around we are a tide that cures ills look at us in the mirror as soon as the invented language enters us something else will vibrate in our skin opening door with teeth of the future to the place where we let the freer feeling go when you told me you had been looking for me we pressed through every invisible barrier between us I watched you gently let the gods know you are ready to win the lottery there were people from the 19th century alive in my lifetime many years ago I met some of them they are all gone now as we hold on to the side of one another howling down the velocity of seconds

---

Acclimating to Discomfort of the System Breaking Beneath Us by CAConrad

---

original formatting: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/159367/acclimating-to-discomfort-of-the-system-breaking-beneath-us

---

#poem #poetry #queer #CAConrad

They promised to give me the song’s weight in gold so I carved the song in granite.

We put my songs in the fruitless garden. Look at the light pouring there! you gasp,

digging around the cold hard trees, rubbing their barks with milk.

I’ve carved all I could so I make more milk. From the silver lake

you cry tonight’s desire would split stone, rouse spring;

we sit by the cold numb songs: these temples without doors.

I try to confess I know nothing about trees— that I’ve always feared my songs

had the wrong kind of flesh— but hoarse, you whisper Look at the light

pouring there & I must protect god from my doubt. My lack of imagination.

I ask you to be god. I lick the prehistoric salt map off your back, wave to the lost

pilgrims, the finches, the green horses galloping from the next hurricane.

I count on my fingers to make sure all the nights have had days.

I bark at the hours songless. Afraid you will love me less—

afraid I will singe the new vines around our waists.

---

FEAR & IRRIGATION by Sara Elkamel

---

#poem #poetry #SaraElkamel

life is better with #poetry in it, and this account is reserved for the celebration of #poems, poetry and #poetics every poem is attributed. any poem that exceeds, in length, the character limit, will be shared through an excepts followed by a link to the full text (if i ever end up sharing my own poetry, i will clearly mark it as such) this account is an alt of @catileptic@chaos.social gay.amsterdam is a #Dutch hosted Mastodon instance that builds a safer space for the #queer community and allies #introduction #fediverse #mastodon