#confessional poetry
you left and left
and miles and miles
between us are not
enough
I need you to buy
a rocket ship
I need you to
enter it, and
leave my thoughts
alone.
- r.iver
My book is out on Amazon
Worldwide ❤️
Libra Moon.
He kisses my forehead and
asks me how my day was
feeds me grapes and
chokes me to climax
all of this and
more of that
without being asked
fucking -ding ding ding- jackpot
and cherry on top -really good to my fragile
-glued back together- heart.
- r.iver
Like a Thief in the Night.
I still secretly wish for my back against
the side of your rib cage
underneath your arms spread widely
on the bed, like wings
never any intention of holding me close
never any intention of wanting me to go
I still secretly wish for that endless in between
while whispering ‘Kiss kiss, night night - see you never- again’
- r.iver
Day 35 - p r o c e s s
Everything has changed, you say.
I describe to you the past weeks of my life;
a door leading to a hallway
the hallway could be
a passenger’s terminal
of an airport
with flights that are still awaiting
their destination.
And hasn’t it always been that way, really?
Everything has changed, you say,
and perhaps nothing really has.
Are we too close to notice
the process,
like falling asleep
with noting really happening
then suddenly happening
so fast?
- r.iver
Confessional poetry is pure and honest
raw and real stuff
nothing wrapped up, looking like healing
just exactly what it is. there is no facade
these confessions show the process
and tell a story backwards
for those open to see.
r.iver
I walked back in a January storm
it was a late night for some
still early for lovers, as I left your steps
I never dared sleeping next to you,
it was too intimate and we were
not even friends, just benefits,
this one time almost had me
fall from the edge of sleep
where you
kept me underneath
your wing and I, got up only to
wash my face, and silently sneak out
with every deep breath you took, I
whispered‘good night’ to your hallway
wrote you out of my veins, into these pages,
like a myth, a demi-god;
a man who cannot even begin to love
a woman like me.
- r.iver
I never dared sleeping next to you, it is too intimate and we are
not even friends, just benefits, this one time almost had me
fall from the edge of sleep where you kept me underneath
your wing and I wrote you away, into my book, like a myth,
a demi-god; a man who cannot even begin to love a force like me.
- r.iver
I have written you like a psalm
and you have written me like an epitaph
we meet in church, it is common ground
not betrothed – to be left and buried
we do not write any longer
we wish each other well now
and wish ourselves better.
- r.iver
today I was driving and
in came this melancholic feeling
of dying - then followed by
being dead - then leaving the trees
like leaves, soft wind blowing and
a collision of cars on the freeway
my eyes wide like moons
around Saturn and
suddenly the fear of
not being ready made me
so ready, as I was
not wishing to die
- I was hoping to live and
this is a new bought jacket, still a bit
too big, with a soft promise of new born me
growing gradually
into it.
- r.iver // 10.26.20
at first glance
your face
showed me
immediately
all the doors we shall not take
guiding me straight
to the back of our story
making sure neither of us will know
what it’s like
spending Sundays
with our lips locked
in love
or slow dancing
in the kitchen
with our dog-babies staring at us
in disgust.
- r.iver
Anne Sexton Photographed by Arthur Furst (Summer 1974) featured in The Last Summer
HAPPY 93rd BIRTHDAY Anne Sexton! RIP!
(9 November 1928, Newton, MA – 4 October 1974, Weston, MA)
“Depression is boring, I think,
and I would do better to make
some soup and light up the cave.”
–-Anne Sexton, from “ The Fury Of Rain Storms”, “The Death Notebooks”,The Furies, 1974
Post link
Today marks the 47th anniversary of Anne Sexton’s death! RIP!
(9 November 1928, Newton, MA – 4 October 1974, Weston, MA)
—
“As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.”
–Anne Sexton, from “Small Wire”,The Awful Rowing Toward God, 1975
Image source: Ransom Center Magazine
Post link
I am so excited to announce the publication of my first poetry chapbook from Bottlecap Press! Hotel Ghost discusses the relationship between lingering and dreaming. I wrote these poems over a period of two years, on and off, while working on another poetry project! Here and there, this little collection developed a voice and a shape. It was a bow and arrow. It was a crystal left out in the rain. It was a voice coming through wallpaper.
Preorder a copy here for just six bucks. Let’s be amazing. Read some poetry.
