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  • jaimespeed 25w

    Excerpt from The edge of town, where we grew up (originally published by Anti-Heroin Chic)
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #pod #poetry

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    ©jaimespeed

  • jaimespeed 28w

    #pod #mirakee #poetry #poetrylove #writersnetwork

    Pulses
     
    The phone booth down the hall is ringing ransom notes again
    The dishwasher calls in its emergency landing to dispatch
    Flickering chandeliers is not Morse code just the summer storm passing through
    Drenching our plates, dinner
     
    plans had to be called off
    like the garden like the wedding like the wolves
    The delayed departure of staircases
    man down man down man down
    The sonar trips, detecting
     
    silences in ranges we can’t calculate
    This great house kicks down its wheels
    and welcomes a new runway
     
    (Originally published by Hobo Camp Review)

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    (Pulses)

  • jaimespeed 29w

    #pod #mirakee #poetry #drinking #writersnetwork #sensual

    on the rocks

    the napkin with the # on it / the # with the napkin under it / in my hand / in your hand / shuddered clothes / shuttered limbs / under my hand / here / pause / stay to curved thigh / skin / of a napkin / soft / and fraying / between fingers / hands / to lips / licking / salt rimmer / a drink stain / on the napkin / on pants / off / a drink stain / rimmer / panting / empty cups / ice / empty bar / empty / top shelf / this is a celebration / you’re top / shelf / on the rocks / stop /
    don’t stop //
    don’t stop / asking for more / refills / drinks / are sweating / on the napkin / smearing 2s and 3s // a love letter untangling / arms uncrossing / legs / the train station’s still open / for legs / orgasm central / the centre / here this centre / bellybutton / to bellybutton / this is obliteration / the centres / of bottles / are hollow / alone / at the train station / running / late / I’ll never drink again / I write a drunk text / to myself / on a sticky note / on the highest cabinet / saying it’s ok / to drink again / I can’t write when I’m this thirsty / no more chicken nuggets / in the bathtub / every second / every second favourite breast / I like 3s best // all smudged in sweat / scribbling poetics / on unopened mail / my alarm / the ring a drink makes / sincerely obliterated /

    (Originally published by OyeDrum Magazine)

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    on the rocks

    stop /
    don’t stop //
    don’t stop / asking for more / refills / drinks / are sweating / on the napkin / smearing 2s and 3s // a love letter untangling / arms uncrossing / legs / the train station’s still open / for legs /


    ©jaimespeed

  • jaimespeed 29w

    #poetry #pod

    Because you laughed when I said the world needs poetry

    I tried to tell you the world
    needs poetry as much as a vaccine
    I read strangers’ faces like tarot cards for signs
    of myself in the smashed cauliflower of their worry

    I catch the rattling in my bones again, the pitch
    of my favourite song and no one stops
    me from listening to it 37 times a day
    like the flash of whiskers your memory stipples to my thigh
    I chart the stars with my teeth
    grinding dot to dot connecting the world
    needs teeth whitening, gym time, vitamins, fresh music, less
    freckling, less skin, less self, less silence, more sirens
    tangled hair, family ties, a row of dog ends dancing
    in your patchwork quilt saved
    for later, singed but not burning, we handle
    threads & bits of fabric like lock downs, enforced
    alone time, a space big enough
    to outgrow ourselves

    isn’t so bad our horoscopes
    predict disqualification, it’s ok
    to write the whole year off
    as long as next year
    we’re gonna get away with it
    the world is a syndrome
    and we’re just the symptoms matching
    the bane with our own grit
    I brush my teeth 7 times a day
    left-handed, hands washed
    7 times more, no body
    sees this part in the movies
    the braiding and unbraiding of hair
    re-watching the lifecycle of ladybugs
    empty arms anxious to rake up
    their springtime shells in a jumble
    of unearthed debris the year over
    heaped up and hauled away
    with the defamed ruins of last year’s garden
    know that I hear you when you say
    you hadn’t meant to leave it
    so untended, it’s ok, dear, the world
    needs forgiveness for a crime it didn’t commit

    (Originally published in Global Poemic)

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    like the flash of whiskers your memory stipples
    to my thigh
    I chart the stars with my teeth
    grinding dot to dot connecting the world


    ©jaimespeed

  • jaimespeed 31w

    Dismantled

    How shall I remove myself

    for you?


    ©jaimespeed

  • jaimespeed 31w

    #summer #wod #pod #mirakee #writerscommunity

    Summer - ie. the time capsule

    It was the summer of spray tan / burials / the summer we decided not to bare the toxic / relationship to ourselves anymore / apathy shaken free / as swimsuits off our sweating skin / diving into wild waters / like learning other bodies / could deliver us our own / to feel the squeeze of freezing water / forcing out our last breath / mocking our unfamiliar mortality / to feel our feet / against the slip of stones / the sand / we wiggle off our toes / before flip flops wield us off again / on new ways / to find ourselves / long before I’d struggle for sixteen years to sleep / we’d stay up all night / our wildness exposed / in cahoots with the moon / a stolen piece of the heavens //

    It was the summer we palmed our packs of du Maurier and Export A / an addendum to our sadness / or adultness / no one knew for sure / what we were waiting for / we moved frantically / in jeans biting at our waists / a frenzy of hips / sucking our teeth like girls on a diet / like the urgency to shrink beyond ourselves / was our only momentum / the summer C95 / stopped being the cool radio station / and on Saturdays we’d get a dime bag from the local guy / stretching the night out long like taffy / ignoring the open mouths of garage doors / calling us by name / choosing to leave / our starched streets / in old cars with open windows / in search / of a sky we could sleep under //

    Sometimes I catch the scent of those summers / washed over in a whiff of open windows and salty bodies / preserved in resin-coated images / I keep them awake with me / charting out a map of moments like stars / burning out too fast / a whole sky bursting / into empty night / sometimes I remember it was that way / for us too / someone always dies / someone always gets married too soon / someone skips the stone / and forgets the count / doesn’t matter / it was always sinking anyway / we were always asking for directions / moving in circles / a dance we could trust / like falling / like the sound of metal twisting / the crash / someone always drives drunk / the shrapnel we collected in the ditches / cupping our hands / and blowing for warmth / like we could revive this / the wreckage / we gathered / our version of cosmic treasure / long buried in the yard / who lives there now / has certainly dug us up like last summer’s tulip bulbs / swept away in the leaves //

    ©jaimespeed
    (Originally published in Issue No. 18 of Anti-Heroin Chic)

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    Summer - ie. the time capsule

    It was the summer of spray tan / burials / diving into wild waters / like learning other bodies / could deliver us our own / our wildness exposed / in cahoots with the moon / a stolen piece of the heavens //
    It was the summer we palmed our packs of du Maurier and Export A / an addendum to our sadness / or adultness / in jeans biting at our waists / a frenzy of hips / sucking our teeth like girls on a diet / on Saturdays we’d get a dime bag from the local guy / stretching the night out long like taffy /
    Sometimes I catch the scent of those summers / washed over in a whiff of open windows and salty bodies / preserved in resin-coated images / swept away in the leaves //

    ©jaimespeed

  • jaimespeed 31w

    Summer - ie. the time capsule

    It was the summer of spray tan / burials / the summer we decided not to bare the toxic / relationship to ourselves anymore / apathy shaken free / as swimsuits off our sweating skin / diving into wild waters / like learning other bodies / could deliver us our own / to feel the squeeze of freezing water / forcing out our last breath / mocking our unfamiliar mortality / to feel our feet / against the slip of stones / the sand / we wiggle off our toes / before flip flops wield us off again / on new ways / to find ourselves / long before I’d struggle for sixteen years to sleep / we’d stay up all night / our wildness exposed / in cahoots with the moon / a stolen piece of the heavens //

    It was the summer we palmed our packs of du Maurier and Export A / an addendum to our sadness / or adultness / no one knew for sure / what we were waiting for / we moved frantically / in jeans biting at our waists / a frenzy of hips / sucking our teeth like girls on a diet / like the urgency to shrink beyond ourselves / was our only momentum / the summer C95 / stopped being the cool radio station / and on Saturdays we’d get a dime bag from the local guy / stretching the night out long like taffy / ignoring the open mouths of garage doors / calling us by name / choosing to leave / our starched streets / in old cars with open windows / in search / of a sky we could sleep under //

    Sometimes I catch the scent of those summers / washed over in a whiff of open windows and salty bodies / preserved in resin-coated images / I keep them awake with me / charting out a map of moments like stars / burning out too fast / a whole sky bursting / into empty night / sometimes I remember it was that way / for us too / someone always dies / someone always gets married too soon / someone skips the stone / and forgets the count / doesn’t matter / it was always sinking anyway / we were always asking for directions / moving in circles / a dance we could trust / like falling / like the sound of metal twisting / the crash / someone always drives drunk / the shrapnel we collected in the ditches / cupping our hands / and blowing for warmth / like we could revive this / the wreckage / we gathered / our version of cosmic treasure / long buried in the yard / who lives there now / has certainly dug us up like last summer’s tulip bulbs / swept away in the leaves //

    ©jaimespeed
    (Originally published in Issue No. 18 of Anti-Heroin Chic)

  • jaimespeed 31w

    FEAR

    all this damage
    is beyond
    reparation



    ©jaimespeed

  • jaimespeed 31w

    Dear Loneliness,

    Thank you for the pleasure
    of your company
    your capital L
    has long been spreading my legs
    and hysterical laughter
    like a dandelion seed on these windy flat days
    you know the ones I mean
    days like songs like lucid dreams like fantasies of rain
    the thunderstorms were never real
    the pitter pattering at night
    was just an empty roof
    aching for the sag of downpours
    aching for the weight of my bones
    my borrowed stories
    like the ones where you’re nice to me
    and think I’m pretty despite
    my little tits and crooked thoughts
    despite loving dandelions
    despite making you drag my lunatic confessions from me
    like the rest of the cigarette I couldn’t stomach to finish
    at night at night at night
    where I straddle the purgatory of sleep
    I’ll always choose you
    to stay awake with you and visit
    your hands your thighs
    every moment that was more yours
    than mine
    the anatomy of night terrors, starving gardens, rituals of yesterday
    like the phantom intuition to strip
    in the rain
    guard down, knees up
    I bend like water
    through the centuries
    where I might finally find sleep in those quiet years
    only to dream of killing dandelions
    spreading their wild bodies everywhere – –

    Yours,
    js

    #poetry #instapoetry #pod

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    Dear Loneliness

    Thank you for the pleasure
    of your company
    your capital L
    has long been spreading my legs
    and hysterical laughter
    like a dandelion seed on these windy flat days

    ©jaimespeed