• Thu. May 30th, 2024


ByLeah Levy

Oct 7, 2023
Black and white image of a pile of word fridge-magnets

Picture us palm-first –

we are only the poems we last penned.

Dropping sands of sound that fixed to these pages before.

Pararhyme with arrhythmia in timing,

to write is a conquering.

Spill out our coda,

retracing and making palimpsest

our favourite refrains in all the poems to our names.

If each new sound I tasted sucking my tongue

emerged glottalized and gutted.

You could take back your sibilance,

it deflates between my teeth.

If my brain were a drenched bog,

losing thoughts that I used to try to shake off,

we wander across if this is worth it.

To wonder through this white space or not to.

Whether I wasted over what?

magnetic poetry” by surrealmuse is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0