I’m super privileged to be given this opportunity to share my work with you. These poems / writing / stories are from somewhere deep and unknown within me. I’ve been putting my short work online (Instagram – @white_svlfvr) for a while and I have been overwhelmed by the response. So I nervously asked Meghan if I could share my work here, and she said yes.
My work is very personal, so I’d love to hear what you think, love or dream about the words and images I make. This is the first step.
Please share it, copy it, chop it up and send it out into the world.
The Knowledge of The Void
Body of light. A body of warmth on a cold shore.
A single point of infinite light falling from the sky.
A swarm of burning cars. Girls who smoke in nylon and lace. Girls who drink home brewed alcohol. You. Girls with bruises from unknown encounters.
I remember… The sound of grating teeth as heard through the skull. The sound of sex as heard through the wall. The sound of approaching tanks as heard through my shaking hands.
The knowledge of the void you said. The wet black, silent black, warm black mouth that eats you in the night.
At dawn the crystal, hung from a lovers hair, shatters the first mourning light into tumbling rainbows on your naked, shivering silver skin. We are almost together.
The mourning star descended into the lake. The water boiled and the air was thick with steam. Faces of the long dead formed; unmoving and unresponsive.
The first kiss of light, sweet and sharp. She told me he still loves her. She showed me his black name under her white skin.
Silence now on your lips; like blood. Cold wind on the edge of the water brings in ghost ships and plastic waste. No messages of hope.
She said she’d walked a thousand miles. Across desert and wilderness and ruined cities of the recent past. She said his trace was everywhere. She said she could never return.
She walked into the dead water.
As the star falls bright light shows the scars, the cracks. Bright light shines through her thin skin like a lantern.
Lucifer; early mourning. I surrender to the hours.
The sound of claws running on stone.
