dicht.es / dense.words

A poetry blog of a bilingual writer. Visit my "more about" page for more About me. feverishkites.tumblr.com/ is my personal blog where I reblog things that I enjoy. If you want to ask me something don't hesitate, I don't bite!

38 Notes
a lisle into bruised forests

inclined to tooth
the present the here and this
onto meanderings of the past,
knowing well they stick mementos
with the ants and with their hills
where there is the silence of a world,
while not a spoken word lingers
in the smudges of tree sounds and murmurs
none but seeds and forest furnitures
that are being damply wrapped
and held to be traveling afar
along the oriental express full of sin
and manes that are no more.
but to walk along mango orchards
and cross borders by foot can be done,
it can be done.
 

51 Notes
volant as if winged / to eat our pi

i suppose you are always flying too high
to come down and kiss me barefooted
where i stand on the seams
someone called this a lonely sight,
as the air up there
is quiet and thin and unbreathable to be in
with only numbers in your pi[e]
scratching out what is uncutable.
for still in this withdrawal i know
that you have turned your insides facing me;
there is love in the aperture distancing you.

66 Notes
they may tag bees

isas-bell:


hoping voices are brittle to the touch till the air
that comes out of their mouths are a modern pile of dust,
weight out and perfectly packaged to crowded stacks that lie
like infinite straws of maybe centimeters apart
from the water everyone will become, so become part
 
of the water everyone will be. come. likely an alike refers
to the same bus or building or human claw that strips down
indulgant matterless heads of the things created
as bees had become throbbing honey producing matter

warm bees in the sun and leftovers will be tagged,
just as the whale would have exploded his guts into the hori-
zon. so the very fragile may start tagging bees.

13 Notes
Q: Have you ever wondered what if your were light enough to drift across a shimmering wheat field? A dry sea of grain undulating in an amber scented September breeze. Sculling about the velvet sprouts. Just a thought☺️
Asked by: coldicehotwater

Well I have not wondered no. I just do it when I close my eyes…like being caught and cramped in a chestnut breaking open with a crack on the ground or a sliding on a feather of a bird, inhaling the thin air as they migrate south.

Thanks for the thoughts!

57 Notes
love and destruction spawn from the same thumb

you say you love art
when it speaks loud to you and your ruptures,
pointing its finger into the wound
no caress will stain a word
a longing of humanity that won’t ease
when sitting in a creative mess.
-
you may touch the way it feels
and luster yourself in blotched wrapper
to feel the lesser of your being whole
and that is what mankind really loves,
-
sitting in the feel of chaos that is not ours.