<

of the veil

Surprise me...

After “No Ruined Stone”

 

Abstract:

how could we forget

at any point in the day

the nights that crouch/creeping

around the other side of the Earth?

the dead.

the infinite dead/in infinite time

seem silly now to think of

as gone as passed as anything

but here among us/buzzing gently

just

out of touch...

~~~

 

if there was a stone

ruined/in some oily bay

how would it look to you?

i want to understand

 

what could ruin a stone for you?

a crack, a break/the illusions of wholeness

the fracture of pretty?

 

Cleave me.

 

from head to toe/i will be dead

and part of me/will also be

free.

could you call my body a ruined stone?

or would you watch this floral spirit dance

and expand like some

electrified, technicolored, off-spectrum smoke?

 

would you smile as you feel me

grace your lips like

i am the wind

          off the wings

of a bee

just

on.the.other

        /

side-of-the-veil

 

World Spins

& wears thin its veil

by the end of October — the circular month

that holds all possibilities

                                                                                                                                         summons late blooms

                                                                                                                                               by the front stoop

                                                                                                                                                          and flurries

that turn your peppers a ghostly white.

Cells burst, boundaries are broken

words have been spoken

                                                                                                                                                               incanted

                                                                                                                                                               each syll

a

                                                                                                                                                                        ble

pier

                                                                                                                                                                      cing

through

                                                                                                                                                                         to

the

                                                                                                                                                                       oth

er

                                                                                                                                                                      side

of

                                                                                                                                                                       the

cloth

                                                                          that is this realm.

 

 

                                                                                   roam:

 

in these times if you

dare to lose your –

 

                                                                                  home:

 

in these spaces

is a vestige

is a memory you barely tease into focus

steam rising & lingering above your mug

lit by the sun’s groggy, dusty tips

                                                                                                                                             here light seeps like

                                                                                                                                                       a minty musk

                                                                                                                                                 glowing amongst

                                                                                                    the edges of things you’ve never seen in the

places you’ve always been

theveil’sgrownthin

careful

                                                                                                                               you’ve slipped through a rip

few have ever felt for

fallen

                                                                                                                                                            to stand in

                                                                                                                                             a place outside of–

                                                                         a time outside of–

 

                                                                                                                                                                      find

 

                                                                                   a way

 

back

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

re-member

the bloody dissections of self

 

you’ve

broken

through the boundary

and must mend the edges

of what has been torn.

 

 

 

 

 

ABOUT THE ARTIST

 

Mikaylo Tairiku Kelly enjoys experiencing the edges of things: exploring definition, identity, boundaries, and their functions. You can find them sowing seeds, looking through lenses, feeling all the feels, and getting down at your local function.

 

 

 

<

Copyright belongs to the creator. .

Surprise me...

& wears thin its veil

by the end of October — the circular month

that holds all possibilities

 

 

 

                                           summons late blooms

                                                 by the front stoop

                                                            and flurries

 

 

 

that turn your peppers a ghostly white.

Cells burst, boundaries are broken

words have been spoken

 

 

 

                                                                incanted

                                                                each syll

a

                                                                         ble

pier

                                                                        cing

through

                                                                           to

the

                                                                         oth

er

                                                                        side

of

                                                                         the

cloth

 

 

 

                          that is this realm.

 

 

 

                                  roam:

 

 

 

in these times if you

dare to lose your –

 

 

 

                                  home:

 

 

 

in these spaces

is a vestige

is a memory you barely tease into focus

steam rising & lingering above your mug

lit by the sun’s groggy, dusty tips

 

 

 

                                              here light seeps like

                                                        a minty musk

                                                  glowing amongst

     the edges of things you’ve never seen in the

 

 

 

places you’ve always been

theveil’sgrownthin

careful

 

 

                                 you’ve slipped through a rip

 

 

 

few have ever felt for

fallen

 

 

                                                             to stand in

                                               a place outside of–

 

 

 

                         a time outside of–

 

 

 

                                                                        find

 

 

                                   a way

 

 

back

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

e-member

the bloody dissections of self

 

you’ve

broken

through the boundary

and must mend the edges

of what has been torn.

 

 

 

 

 

<

<
Surprise me...

& wears thin its veil

by the end of October — the circular month

that holds all possibilities

 

 

 

                   summons late blooms

                         by the front stoop

                                    and flurries

 

 

 

that turn your peppers a ghostly white.

Cells burst, boundaries are broken

words have been spoken

 

 

 

                                        incanted

                                         each syll

a

                                                 ble

pier

                                                cing

through

                                                   to

the

                                                 oth

er

                                                side

of

                                                 the

cloth

 

 

 

             that is this realm.

 

 

 

                      roam:

 

 

 

in these times if you

dare to lose your –

 

 

 

                      home:

 

 

 

in these spaces

is a vestige

is a memory you barely tease into focus

steam rising & lingering above your mug

lit by the sun’s groggy, dusty tips

 

 

 

                                            here light seeps like

                                                      a minty musk

                                                 glowing amongst

    the edges of things you’ve never seen in the

 

 

 

places you’ve always been

theveil’sgrownthin

careful

 

 

         you’ve slipped through a rip

 

 

 

few have ever felt for

fallen

 

 

                                     to stand in

                       a place outside of–

 

 

 

            a time outside of–

 

 

 

                                                find

 

 

                     a way

 

 

back

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

e-member

the bloody dissections of self

 

you’ve

broken

through the boundary

and must mend the edges

of what has been torn.

 

 

 

 

 

Surprise me...

& wears thin its veil

by the end of October — the circular month

that holds all possibilities

 

 

 

                   summons late blooms

                         by the front stoop

                                    and flurries

 

 

 

that turn your peppers a ghostly white.

Cells burst, boundaries are broken

words have been spoken

 

 

 

                                        incanted

                                         each syll

a

                                                 ble

pier

                                                cing

through

                                                   to

the

                                                 oth

er

                                                side

of

                                                 the

cloth

 

 

 

             that is this realm.

 

 

 

                      roam:

 

 

 

in these times if you

dare to lose your –

 

 

 

                      home:

 

 

 

in these spaces

is a vestige

is a memory you barely tease into focus

steam rising & lingering above your mug

lit by the sun’s groggy, dusty tips

 

 

 

                                            here light seeps like

                                                      a minty musk

                                                 glowing amongst

    the edges of things you’ve never seen in the

 

 

 

places you’ve always been

theveil’sgrownthin

careful

 

 

         you’ve slipped through a rip

 

 

 

few have ever felt for

fallen

 

 

                                     to stand in

                       a place outside of–

 

 

 

            a time outside of–

 

 

 

                                                find

 

 

                     a way

 

 

back

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

e-member

the bloody dissections of self

 

you’ve

broken

through the boundary

and must mend the edges

of what has been torn.