Montana, Clementine von Radics
The doctor sits me on a table and asks me to stick out my tongue.
I ask him if he sees the paintings I carry in the back of my throat.
He laughs as if I’m telling a joke,
I’ve got Basquiat, Schiele, Van Gogh, and Da Vinci
so when I laugh, I taste brushstrokes.
I ask him if he can stick out his tongue
so I can see what he has trapped inside of him.
He hesitates a little then he does and I see a man who
struggles for acceptance and chokes on the word
Lacey Roop, from “The Parts of Humans Science Can’t Explain”
Hafiz (via ghostprint)
even when your tongue
is the only muscle in you i love
even when the grease in your
hair sticks to me for a week
even when your mouth is
ripe on mine
even when your pioneer hands
take the shape of my hips
you are not the tired voice i
want to hear in the morning
you are not the wound on my
thigh i tell stories about
you are not a shield from the
rain and you stay dry
you are an old wooden ship all your own"
“Maritime,” Amanda Birkner
William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar