(1.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
she writes
as if it is a magic trick
where she lays a penny behind god’s ear
and waits for a flower to grow
behind her own<\/p>\n\n\n\n
and if you’re trying to still
the kind of hunger that has you
clenching your teeth<\/p>\n\n\n\n
you know…
such as the pursuit of poetry?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
her way
works so much better
than mine<\/p>\n\n\n\n
so much better
than hating the cigarette
only for the parts
that didn’t burn you right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(2.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the first thousand times
I felt that mix of aspirin and toothpaste
dance me dizzy
across a paper stage<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought I was falling in love with you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
now I know<\/p>\n\n\n\n
those odes to the wrong muse
were only snow globes
filled with paracetamol<\/p>\n\n\n\n
something to numb our bruises<\/p>\n\n\n\n
and not the firework seeds
that birth new strawberry fields
across barren pasts<\/p>\n\n\n\n
not a beauty
worth the wound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(3.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lately<\/p>\n\n\n\n
what I present on paper platters
as poetry<\/p>\n\n\n\n
were only the patterns
in which my fingertips
let slip their ink<\/p>\n\n\n\n
while I tried to stitch my thorns back on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(4.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She would have found it easier<\/p>\n\n\n\n
if I had let my love for her
die in a draft<\/p>\n\n\n\n
and maybe I would have done it too<\/p>\n\n\n\n
had I not let the tomb that is silence
already grow too full.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(5.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe it’s the recoil
from the cut on my lip
maybe I just forgot how to smile at strangers<\/p>\n\n\n\n
maybe I gambled it all away
at the altar of my faults
trying to win back the bravery it takes
to ask someone if I am still visible
from unknown points of view.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Are we both here, or is it only you?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(6.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Oh god<\/p>\n\n\n\n
how I wish to exist in their fictions<\/p>\n\n\n\n
slightly drunk
and as shamelessly fleetful
as I wished to be perceived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(and Poet,
if you do decide to make me a part of this,
don’t forget to get the accent wrong.
After all,
we’re all only murmuring starlings
playing the telephone game anyway.)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Artwork: slightly drunk and shamelessly fleetful, By Ben Heart<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":132,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[7,6],"class_list":["post-134","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","tag-benheart","tag-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=134"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":172,"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134\/revisions\/172"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/132"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=134"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=134"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/benheart.art\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=134"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}