The Excelano Project Official Blog » Melissa Pavri

Wreckage

Melissa Pavri — Sat, 29 May 2010 15:14:51 +0000

The nearness of you is marble on sky. Enchanting and breakable. I do not know how to sleep without the obsidian clouds that travel your gaze. They look like a mouth of dream that likes to mull over the ocean. Big fish and little noise. Everything that washes over our bellies in the youngest hours of the afternoon. You listen. Like the conch of my lips can tell you the all the answers and the sand will not write them down. We drift for the damnation of not knowing when the world will end. What its silkscreen will look like against the wall of morning. You know that waves are fickle and only the shore will care about you when the sun wakes up. But we both like moments. How they surf the crests of our noses like a breath in a flame. Sometimes you are a compass on the tip of blast and I want to be your Magellan. Follow you into the storm of your self and remind you of the peace beneath the city. I want to tell you our season is graying. The trees are bending their spines to tell us we are flightless birds we do not know our feathers. I might live a dozen lifetimes in the wristwatch of this week. The face of time will silver and laugh no more. I might get another tattoo and you might cut your hair. I hate the way I need to wake to you how innocent its bones look at dusk. I will unfeel the summer in your skin and tell the sun to know the nape of your neck like I did. My poems will not wait for me. Reason will be a wrecking ball of fist and we will be the falling house no one cares to fight for. You know there is no axiom for the way it happens. How unsettling it is to fall in fear with a moment that is seven leagues away. But you cannot know it until it comes said the silence. Its skeleton will crumble between your fingers and you will wonder how flesh wanders. Like a mind on mushrooms. It is unthinkable. Though I suppose we are too. I can map our voyages but I cannot imagine the distance. Cannot measure its ache in thought. Will it unfold by the fathom one night in July and paddle through a few thousand miles to tell its story to a sea of strangers. Will it thrash like a beached dolphin or sit on a bed of memory. I will have to wish on the wreckage.

Djembe

Melissa Pavri — Mon, 03 May 2010 15:53:52 +0000

Whenever I hear a djembe laugh with the pulse of a thousand fingers
I think of what it means to be free in a world that stares at every open mouth
Like a field on fire
Worried its blaze might burn sanity to the ground
I want to brush the sand of insecurity from my neck
Roll down the dune of my stomach
And tell the pit of my navel that I am alive
Throw myself into the busied river of the day and
Fish for nothing but a night in a place you don’t know exists
But you know you are on your way and
There is gravity there and it is more important than reason
In this beat I am nothing but release
A moment resting in the humid air
Just for the sake of breathing the life from shaking hips before it bursts
Today I am a dying drum and I want to be beaten
With the weight of an afternoon awash with tangerine sun
And heads cocked back in orgasm for no other reason than that they know how
I want to arch my back into a question mark and admit that I am not all knowing
And that the music knows this space better than I do
But I can try
I can open every crevice of me to shake the dust from my pages and
Laugh at the most jealous of instruments
Because they will never bend their bodies for joy
Like we do though many will die trying
Their lips are selfish old women
Never let their thighs do the talking
But we know better
We know the stories in our bones can only be heard
When our skins cry loose like rattlesnakes looking for more interesting lives
When our shadows shed their shame and jump over our heads
To catch us before we lose our legs
I want to know my shoulders will trust the sky more than the earth
Sway like artists toward the stars and promise nothing
But belief in flight in seconds in ecstasy
In the bareback truth that the most beautiful things crack on the outside
If only to let the rhythms of the world into their veins
Even if for only a dance a moment a breath
The truth is my chestnut body owes its heat to the earth
To the soils in my grandmothers eyes and
The plains of her back and all I want to do
Is run thoughtless through the strands of her onyx hair
To the poetry of the djembe she held for years like a last word before expiring
The slap slap racket of life struck on the hoop of her mouth
Was always enough to make her forget the dismal face of boredom
Let the reddened soles of my feet leave the ground
Long enough to learn the secrets of escape

Allergy

Melissa Pavri — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 20:27:31 +0000

i think your skin is
born of bumblebees
not the kind that sting
the kind that comb
elbow through mess just to prove that
something can come of chaos
hover hum between flailing and dying
and find honey in the wingspan
of the air between our noses
it baffles me
how a swarm of laughter can silence
every qualm my hands have ever had
how the cacophony of your breath
can drum my thoughts into
the hexagon of your smile
i wish i understood the allergy of distance
the cloud caught truth
that you cant outgrow giants
or mothers scorn
or six hours airborne
wish i could ease with will
the hive that swells lip and flesh
to the knot of stories in our knees
that cant seem to come undone
the ones that fret like fire and
slither like steam
through the thicket of today
they are the seed of you
make my tongue sound spring
and lose the lisp of winter
why is it that women must be linguists
i pray they forget how to spell
long enough to learn the names
of the boys in their back pockets

Shiver

Melissa Pavri — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 22:21:54 +0000

there is a shiver of stars
beneath the blue moon of climax
quiet as creed but present as prayer
i wonder if men know the light year
between trust and comfort
the false skip of stone from ear to Jupiter
a sliver of sex shouldering a galaxy
the tales of fancy that twist from wishbone thighs
are two lips shy of honest
but faces feign belief as often as young men sin
women blush like plums
and burst for no good reason
they see the pulp of pleasure in the navel of orange
and the forgiving flesh of mango
beg two eager open hands
too young to know the meaning of defeat
a mother who can teach her son
to peel a fruit with thoughtful fingers
a son who knows a woman is an orchid
with a silk ribbon of tender between her petals
a woman who knows how to fish
the pearl from her oyster without a man
these are the artists of the earth
who paint salvation with their tongues
and mushroom bliss by fingerwidth
but there are still those
who don’t know how to use the brush
float marooned in a sea of wet paint waiting
for the selfish stroke of another
this is for the women who do not rattle
who snake selfless from rapture
for fear of waking the world
for the women who pinch constellations to shine their teeth
and grin only because the moon is telling them to
there is no shame in spilling secret
there is no shame in breaking
in wanting the sea and the sun in the same pant
the orgasm of life was born for the woman
for the pomp of passion
and the want of circumstance
there is no shame in a parade of pansies
cracking at the same supple axis for a bud of joy
and wrestling with the static of thoughtful faces
let them weep magenta
and turn in unison from the December sky

Jostle

Melissa Pavri — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 00:26:29 +0000

sometimes i lose my legs in the sphinx of your sexless laugh
in the quiet majesty of crest come retreat
and the cosmic agony of waiting for you on the tail of my tongue
in the golden harmonica threads of your whisper
and the wind sprint of recollection beneath my lips
in the self righteous flight of your two front teeth
and the unchecked turbulence of my stopwatch knees
i want the second hand to dwell in the solar dynamo of your smile
and the fleeting of a Philadelphia skyline
that doesn’t dawn as easily as i thought it might
in the downhill of a moment that makes no promises
past the finite lawn of your skin
rolling down our spines like fickle children
time is platinum pinned to the cushion of not caring for coordinates
and the casual chronicle of a long time coming
its glisten is unsettling
sometimes i lose my arms in the stomach of a seastruck explorer
with little regard for distance or thunder
in the telescope of intimacy and the black hole of your throat
it’s damn near impossible to distinguish
truth from legend
salt from sea
sugar from dust
i find myself conversing
with the clay cracked nomad in your skull
and the clumsy boy in your constitution
you are falling into your own words
and i can’t help but tumbleweed bind my teeth to the
billowed flesh of your parachute persuasion
so i guess i’ll follow you to the earth
you funneling whirlwind of a man
sometimes i lose my thighs in the evolution of historical haunches
and the novelty of a great unearthing
brush me an optimist but
there is a mantle of promise
in the faultless spell of your geography
in the continental question mark of your face
to the California wildfire in your veins
strike me clean to match a forest
to the peaceful lotus in your iris
do you feel like filling me an ocean today
to the castaway in your gaze
and the black pearl in your gut
wash me a juvenile jellyfish and
let me ink my way to heaven on the rhythmic limp of lust
i am looking for rest
in the acrostic of your chest and
the sack of lonely letters in your abdomen
too true you were never permanent
your breath is but a relic
easily held easily broken
i am caught in the cloud of late night delusion
and the hazardous nosedive of believing in an epic
i know it’s dangerous
but i have mastered the art of drawing us
a dreamscape of early morning wonder
that drafts itself deadlock between my wrists
a cat’s cradle of open mouths
that linger lick from the palette of desire
it’s your bright red sincerity
that jostles my bones like gospel
your blue moon composure that reminds me of prayer
and god knows how many nights without it
but i swear could’ve survived this one
without the pull of your religion
sometimes i lose my alphabet in the risk
of spelling your name by mishap
of a reckless crash into like
and the endless jitter of aftermath
in the belly of waxing philosophical between giant hours
and the watershed of angst crouching in the corner
in the discordant rapture of reason and relish
i have always been told to relish the reason
for dying on the edge of humanity
with naked wanderlust eyes glittered grand for the taking
who knew i would find the Pacific
in the undertow of a bedouin soundclash
in all your tall ship teeth and wayward disorder
sometimes i lose myself in the magenta everything of your neck
i am the uneasy sun in the bipolar horizon of your clavicle
not sure whether to rise or set
i find myself believing in the thundercloud theories
you rest your head on just a little bit more than i used to
i can feel them tap the drum of my ear
like a September rain
like a tangerine fountain of youth
all knowing
striking
yet passing our noses all too swiftly like the crisp tongue of autumn
there is nothing more vertigo
than the slope of your receding brow
the endearing rambler in your gesture
and the uncomfortable truism that you are not coming back

For A Friend

Melissa Pavri — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 19:22:23 +0000

all i could feel was my own stillness
skulking between my bones
dragging the ballad of her sunken chest against my flesh
her pendulum smile was small
skeptical
of place
of light
of face
of time
she mumbled agony between her words
i am fine
i see her crack beneath my gargantuan concern
questions tumbling in stone columns
like the apocalyptic musings of rand
she shrugs and flees to the comfortable gap between her hands
how could this happen i ask
her eyes are dying acrobats
all they know is sweet release and disbelief
recovering air and sweating stars
leaning towards a cosmic precipice
till the giant fists of gravity pummel them into oblivion
her recollections sound like a homesick accordion
and an orchestra of misplaced crickets
frantic and riotous
there is a violence in not knowing
in not wanting to remember
the quiet of his eyes and the footsteps of a moment
when the sky quits and comes tumbling down
on humanity in all its war torn glory
there is something muddled in her composition
the advent of nose to looking glass
she is not quite sure of her anatomy
not as much confidence in her collarbone
no sanctuary in her spine
i wonder if she taught herself how to fall
in the star struck span of a second
holding onto the horizon for dear life
like a jittery sun sinking into oceanic sidewalk
did she notice the pavement was bleeding
when she peeled herself from its deep sea depths
did she lose her earth legs in a titanic shipwreck
and leave her tongue somewhere starboard of protest
i wonder if she knew breath
was a black pearl wonder
too easily taken and
damn near impossible to reconstruct
i wonder if she wished her father was the moon
ever watchful marvel of a man
with a crater for a mouth
and wrinkles that concede the world is ugly
wished he would swallow silence
and never want any more answer
from his slender moonbeam of a daughter

“21″ inspired by Alysia Harris

Melissa Pavri — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 07:20:49 +0000

1. i fear the unknown
2. i am still learning how to say no
3. i am blind
4. i see beauty in every rift in the universe
5. i know my sister better than i know myself
6. i have never been in love
7. i like the taste of salt and things i know by tongue
8. i am the color of the earth and it makes me feel human
9. i don’t mind my scars
10. my dreams frighten me
11. i don’t believe in stars and i dislike distance
12. i sing in wishing wells
13. i know how to live outside myself
14. i fall for legends
15. i have endless faith in the anarchy of friendship
16. i don’t know how to shatter but i have met salvation
17. i only share secrets with my reflection
18. i want to know the worth of my last name
19. i am stuck making words sound beautiful
20. i am not good at telling the truth
21. i will be

Mwandishi

Melissa Pavri — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 06:24:00 +0000

he looks like a sun kissed wanderer
with aquatic eyes and tumbleweed fingers
sweating somewhere outside of time
he is the spitting skeleton of
a perfect first word
the kind that makes any man
wanna break loose from his bones
and rename himself a writer
he is the humble sum of everything
between charcoal and ivory
eight octaves of what
the most common existence is made of
slow bass moans and
high pitched hysterics
intersecting at a cryptic coordinate
they say it’s the birthplace of humanity
i wonder if his
maiden voyage is
matchless
a cognac map to Atlantis
fingering the ten corners of the earth
a tangerine rose
blooming into cactus
an impossible fantasy
sailing under a purple moon
in a sea of daydreams
or is it just
where his hands
take him in the afternoon
corduroy pockets and
the small of a back
feels like the cracking of a
cool watermelon smile
and the universal belief that
souls are like galaxies
cupped in the fists of children
waiting to be born
little stars shining placental promise
but he is still just a fleck in his own iris
a crippled conversationalist
a mute symphony of impassioned phrases
that can only exit his being
through his fingers
he would gladly trade his lips
for canteloupe island eyes
and bipolar hands
one quarter note for every unspoken truth
he wishes he had the eloquence
to express
wishes it was
effortless
like melody
like harmony at sunrise
waking between his fingers
a crimson assurance that
everything will be okay
a nocturne euphemism for
a declaration of love
that slipped out from
between his brandy hands
a technicolored vista of afterthoughts
that never scrolled past his tongue
he spills his darkest secrets
on this chromatic canvas
excessive
uninhibited
belief leaking from every cleft
after he empties his chest
he’ll leave his legacy squarely
on the piano bench
look over the
shoulders of his grandchildren
with the full moon glow of
a man who beamed
a cosmos from his fingertips
and he’ll smile
a cool watermelon smile
that looks like dolphins dancing
and he’ll know that
this is what being human
should feel like

Stained Glass

Melissa Pavri — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 19:40:52 +0000

love’s
a stained
glass window
it doesn’t see
faults the same way we
do, dull godforsaken
oracles of demise but
rather reminds us that the most
divine things have cracks on the outside
we can’t help but shatter beneath its light

Dreamcatcher

Melissa Pavri — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 15:51:53 +0000

Dream
Catcher,
Be my smile,
Deflect my fate.
I know you won’t last
Forever but promise
You will age majestically.
Do not fear the cracking of teeth,
It is the simple proof that you have
Let a thousand good things pass through your breach.