Jostle
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
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
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
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
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
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
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
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
