November 30, 2006
Posted in Poetry at 9:15 pm by Kristiina
when dawn has no name, i become stormbound
waterfallen from your skin
where love lasts a second, sometimes a day.
the nomad dressed in hunger
drums to a hurricane, beaten
in prelude to silence and broken trees.
when dawn has no name, i become liquified
breathing violin sounds into newborn eyes.
i shut down the clocks,
close your voice and the howling desert wind;
time’s birched in a tree, swinging feet -
deprived of oxygen,
out of breath, out of mind i become stormbound;
ride north over glaciers where ice men cut time
and break sun-kissed waves, shoulders bared.
they exhale ozone in scaled lights -
look, there it weaves.
barely human, i scan the fjords.
rush through shallow water,
forget to stop looking for you
forget to stop, to love, to leave
forget to stand, to run, to close my eyes -
a sea gull glides above my head,
wails of lovers and the high of flight.
i am bound.
when dawn has no name, i lose you somewhere,
and the wind rattles me away.
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November 14, 2006
Posted in Story Scrapbook at 11:02 pm by Kristiina
Jazz broke the reflection of a streetlamp in your livingroom, jumping above the levels of white noise, distant traffic and someone’s sleeping sounds.
Come, baby, you sang, and turned my necklace into chains.
You caught a song fraction with long, dark fingers; snatched it from the air and tasted alien syllables. Whiskey and water, you thought, and mixed in some drums for strength.
Sprawled on your bed, I asked for Spanish guitars, and you added that. The drinks remained untouched.
I became an aquatic robot, sliding down pipelines and merging decibels, clank! from one, keeeshhh! from the next turn; echoes everywhere. You played blackjack on my body, turning cards infuriatingly slowly. Down, down, down another pipe I went, and I made a savage out of you; an outlaw flooding streets with jazz and shooting lampposts with laser eyes.
Come, baby, you said, and then shot me down so I’d never surrender.
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