This piece feels precise and unsettling in a deliberate way, almost like language itself has been disciplined into ritual. The fragmentation creates a sense of confinement, as if each line is both prayer and indictment. The imagery around devotion and control leaves a lingering discomfort that seems intentional.
Let me tell you. There's an aisle seat, frozen by the crowd - and rightly so. Through the window to my left, solitude stretches wide. On the shore, a figure with a strangely shaped head deep in conversation with the waves. I sink deeper into my seat, watching them both disappear. Still counting.
While reading this, I kept hearing the computer voice from Radiohead's "Fitter, Happier."
It seems to be about the impossibility of devout worship in the current year... in church or anyplace else? With everybody either solipsistic or melodramatic? Well, it's about other things too. The "sacrifice" of menstruation. The moral hazard of a life without risk. It was all smooth sailing, until the slow dining deaths began. Then, exegesis became complicated.
Love the FH reference - the mechanical enumeration of a life under control is close to the tone I was chasing. And yes, devotion becomes complicated once the body and risk enter the room. Thank you for reading it so carefully. Much appreciated.
Thank you so much for subbing back! I am truly honored to have you.
As a child, I naively believed that risk was the entire purpose of devotion... or at least what made it meaningful. But for the flighty among us, devotion is more of an analgesic than investment. And the files of our soul keep becoming corrupted and unreadable.
I mean it. It's so hard to find anybody real in this world that I'm in tears over it right now. I'm running out of time to have a good life with someone capable of understanding me.
I loved this piece, it’s so visceral. You’ve perfectly captured that 'half-gone' state in the aftermath. The quote 'she.walks.out—half-gone; / milk-pale; / red-lipped;' is stunningly written. To me, it represents the exact moment the 'sacrifice' is complete and the person is left as a ghost of themselves. It’s a brilliant, heavy observation of spiritual and emotional exhaustion. Thank you truly for writing this piece, it will stay with me for a long time!!
Thank you for reading this deeply, appreciate it. The theme matches your piece in some aspects and it felt like we’re twining yet again. Sending good vibes!
I love how reading your words tears me in different directions. Granted this happens with ppetry a lot, but I feel like there is an added layer of abstraction to your programa syntax.
Reading this I felt...
- the longing for true connection in a superficial congregation
- the joy and heartache of loving someone invisibly
- the soul's retreat from the crowd
- the yearning to be exposed completely and safely
I’m grateful you felt that many layers in it. The syntax hides nothing - it rearranges the exposure. Thank you for reading between the structures. Congregation: still unconvinced.
This piece feels precise and unsettling in a deliberate way, almost like language itself has been disciplined into ritual. The fragmentation creates a sense of confinement, as if each line is both prayer and indictment. The imagery around devotion and control leaves a lingering discomfort that seems intentional.
Thank you. I’m grateful you noticed the discipline in it. The ritual was intentional - structure is the only way to hold what’s volatile.
It's very striking. That shift" not.yours; never.mine", is where it breaks open for me. Wow, six syllables doing the work of a paragraph!
Thank you very much for reading and re-stacking. Glad that ‚shit’ breaks open for you. Couldn’t possibly ask for more. Gratitude
Oh damn, I love the heavily punctuated style, really gives it an edgy tone, especially with chosen topic. Really unique work.
Glad you liked it. Thank you so much for the love.
i.excel(at.folding);
Offfff loved this piece!
As a catholic I appreciated the nuances between heart and spirit. It smushes the line of what actually is, right?
Thank you @Soulhunting. The balance endears me - never knowing if I'll fall. The stretch keeps me going. Glad you liked it.
the way she look away
a sky is borrowed
i can hear your voice
installed above the ceiling
exported meaning
through invisible
pipelines
her shape
waits
for its signature
guilty (guilty) no
congregation ought to judge -
she walks untouched by praying hands
burdened with invisible pipelines
shaping her to resemble faith
I found you since I'm there also.
You are extraordinary. Nobody saw him except you. This only happens in the Bermuda Triangle.
Haha, "lost and never found" is where I thrive. Also - a dog bark just snapped me into focus.
I was always wondering what you see from the middle seat?
Let me tell you. There's an aisle seat, frozen by the crowd - and rightly so. Through the window to my left, solitude stretches wide. On the shore, a figure with a strangely shaped head deep in conversation with the waves. I sink deeper into my seat, watching them both disappear. Still counting.
3 turns
someone flew on a plane
we remained
seated
poison rationed in cups
count to 387
one
two
three
repeat
all hands on deck
sealed door opens
room two
catalogued love rots
in the cracks
of your dry lips
dark leaves
pressed to the interior glass
flowers
bound with wire
reflected and displayed
road no exit
forest no echo
breath visible
no proof
a deck of fragmented fields
repeated, forfeited frequencies -
no way out.
burning 387,
breath trapped
in airway crimes.
middle seat, swallowed dry stalks,
without evidence,
cups multiplied
While reading this, I kept hearing the computer voice from Radiohead's "Fitter, Happier."
It seems to be about the impossibility of devout worship in the current year... in church or anyplace else? With everybody either solipsistic or melodramatic? Well, it's about other things too. The "sacrifice" of menstruation. The moral hazard of a life without risk. It was all smooth sailing, until the slow dining deaths began. Then, exegesis became complicated.
Incredible tour de force of a poem, Moty!
Love the FH reference - the mechanical enumeration of a life under control is close to the tone I was chasing. And yes, devotion becomes complicated once the body and risk enter the room. Thank you for reading it so carefully. Much appreciated.
Thank you so much for subbing back! I am truly honored to have you.
As a child, I naively believed that risk was the entire purpose of devotion... or at least what made it meaningful. But for the flighty among us, devotion is more of an analgesic than investment. And the files of our soul keep becoming corrupted and unreadable.
Devotion without risk does start to feel like a sedative. No wonder the soul’s files become unreadable. It’s a pleasure to sub back.
It's a pleasure to connect with someone so uncompromisingly real.
Running on this compliment today. Gratitude.
I mean it. It's so hard to find anybody real in this world that I'm in tears over it right now. I'm running out of time to have a good life with someone capable of understanding me.
the more i read the more i find
Finders, keepers. Thank you @Gan
Ever line lands like a controlled burn.
The effect acculumates
It's very good.
Absence is pervasive.
Thank you. Controlled is the only way it doesn’t consume everything. Absence does most of the work.
I loved this piece, it’s so visceral. You’ve perfectly captured that 'half-gone' state in the aftermath. The quote 'she.walks.out—half-gone; / milk-pale; / red-lipped;' is stunningly written. To me, it represents the exact moment the 'sacrifice' is complete and the person is left as a ghost of themselves. It’s a brilliant, heavy observation of spiritual and emotional exhaustion. Thank you truly for writing this piece, it will stay with me for a long time!!
Thank you for reading this deeply, appreciate it. The theme matches your piece in some aspects and it felt like we’re twining yet again. Sending good vibes!
You deserve all the love for writing such a brilliant piece🖤
This hurts. Felt like carving a piece of me. That’s my own takeaway (have my own reasons), but this is beautifully created.
Thank you @Damien, appreciate you.
Likewise. You have a gift for subtly digging in, establishing so much meaning. It’s beautiful.
Thank you Damien. And I’m sorry that it hurts a little. Hope you don’t mind though x
So many 人々 wishing upon me,
as if I were a sky
they could throw prayers into.
I wish you.
I love you.
I am falling under the weight of it -
breath breaking in my throat.
Saint. Saints.
Someone is crying inside the light.
Happy.
Am I?
Their arms tremble,
failing to contain
this unbearable intensity of my being alive.
sanctus.sanctus;
light.interrogates;
tears.catalogued;
mask.embalmed;
enamel.intact;
tremor - receipt.of.aliveness;
cast.prayers(upward;
call.it.grace);
the.sky.underplays
what.it.cannot.contain -
JV intensity;
I love how reading your words tears me in different directions. Granted this happens with ppetry a lot, but I feel like there is an added layer of abstraction to your programa syntax.
Reading this I felt...
- the longing for true connection in a superficial congregation
- the joy and heartache of loving someone invisibly
- the soul's retreat from the crowd
- the yearning to be exposed completely and safely
- more things without words...
Also glad you find the tearing enjoyable. Masochistic but understandable.
I’m grateful you felt that many layers in it. The syntax hides nothing - it rearranges the exposure. Thank you for reading between the structures. Congregation: still unconvinced.
Very emotional 💦
Thank you so much 💦
“tried_on(fevered.cleavages.in.packed_chapels);
not.yours;
never.mine;”
Like a blade!!
Someone please take that knife away! Thank you Erin, much appreciated.
So beautiful and haunting.
Thank you so much for the love and support. Means a lot!