5/28/2018 Poetry By Frankie Springbitter dissipate lo-fi the rhythm of our footfalls in a dream bitter winter the warmest in human memory lo-fi the imaginings of a heart watching smoke- stack belches dissipate in the rain, lo-fi the same song of a heart in a world so quiet you could hear a needle drop breathe in, sweet succor of the seemingly happy death surround my cradled arms in a world defined by do no harm Kant recedes to a sour-tasting corner and bleeds longing for hierarchy into a plastic cup collect the essence of generation blood is left in the shelled land call the blood-letter solve leftover longing like clipping purple flowers --water their thirsty veins in a windowsill vase as the cold sets in, try to save them, do not let them die a good death at first freeze-- will you call the blood-letter with me? will you drown the last vestige of the flower in the freezing rain, will you strangle the spirit of a tiger doomed in his cage to misery? yes your answer melancholy: dilute this blue pumping unreachable vein with clear water, blood will dissipate it will no longer taste bitter to lick your open wounds everyone agrees wilting brown-tinged rotting stinking petals matted snow and shit-stained pens we cannot abide the stench we will not abide the stench as with a flurry of birds taking flight in the morning leaving the place of congregation for the sky, the enslaved will escape by edicts of nature from the crowd that calls them nigh unto death but isolation grows its own morphed and jagged leaves, though there is no freeze in the south, on the plain, flowers of perpetual summer float the subtle fragrance of submission, put the petals in a pot and brew up once again sweet succor of the seemingly happy death i pray the dirge begins while we yet have breath in our lungs, yet blood in our limbs, for nothing could be more beautiful, you said, nothing could be more beautiful than the glory of a lost cause and the lament of a tragic end epiphany and the endless march of time remember the cold of december has passed the worst is all behind us i grow older not smoothly but with tantrum i miss the plains, i miss the almost-desert-never-rains warm-in-winter, i miss one particular sinner i fear will never repent with the force of a whirlwind tearing through the silent cattle-fields at the turn of spring to summer this is to my warm young season coming to an end, i do not grow old gracefully but with a fury i learned in the lion's den of lances and tourniquets, medieval tournaments slap the crook of your arm can you feel life there can you feel it? rushing and floating danger. i am in danger, of growing backwards to this past will verse ever progress beyond slant rhyme now i see as in a mirror dimly will you clear away the grime accumulated in a million capitulated conversations will you, my queen and my mother let me fall formless into a mass grave dug for all those who chose and opposed of a generation while the old man sits by his hearth and his field which demeter will tend, and never fail, forever and ever. serious girl i danced and thought i was beautiful, i danced and thought it was beautiful silhouettes of skeletons underneath models’ skin in magazines-- depravity in everything, graffiti the flesh of young fresh people peeling away baring iniquity to the face of the blind world i danced and thought it was beautiful my body unfurled in ribbons, thwarted violently were the arms of all god’s guardian angels ![]() Bio: Frankie Spring is an undergraduate student at Indiana University South Bend majoring in English Writing. She has never understood a single joke, or the elusive art of social networking, but likes to think she's a nice person to hang out with anyway. So far, her poetry has appeared in her college's literary journal. It will also soon appear in Retirement Plan, a zine showcasing South Bend artists and writers. Comments are closed.
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