Sunday Edition
A Collection Plate of 9 Small Poems
Straining Container
Sometimes
I daydream And it’s morning
And it just occurred to me to
Write it all down,
Specifically in paragraph
Form. i stand so firmly,
Sometimes, in my own poetry
The comfort of soil and being still
Moist and dirty, rooted but
Yearning for the death of my reaching limbs,
my straining container
My Feet
There is so much power
I am out of breath
Speaking to myself
Adamantly
I am an open pore
Dancing in my own Rain puddles
I fashion myself a child
And
I am
Here in my feet
Coming Body
Something about superpowers and peace
Something from my childhood
A disbelief faith pretending
Motioning as I’m told
And below there was no feeling
I felt i could express
No cultivated trust a stunted growth
And into adulthood I bled
The wounded warrior I took into remission
Pressed black hair out of my eyes
Nuzzled to my own breast feeding
I am the witch in the woods
Calling in my boldest selves
My most aggressive of facets
And fucking myself for holy healing
Knowing that every fantasy is a portal
Every portal a mouth sucking
Life into my next coming body
Woman Body
This is my woman body
My tits, my spread legs
Moving boldly & with precision
This is me coming
Undone and fucking flying
Spending time in the glide
Smooth and poured into
The greatest black dress.
My Hair
My hair is magic and it tells lies
It’s unbearably part of my nature
With its split endings and startling beauty
Tangled with the evening light.
Go Deeper
Say something pretty
As a title on the top of me
Underline the soft fine hairs
Barely existing with the constellation
Shaped moles on my belly
I am hard underneath
And soft on the sides
An invitation to go deeper.
My Life
Evidence of the devil
Mother, Father, Pastor
pointing hands persecuting
I am full of light
Casting shadows
Within or without this flesh
Nothing is wrong with me, and no
One is coming to save my Life
Smiling Lips
I am made of God
And pulsing flesh
Perfect reflection
Of planetary movements
Waxing and waning
Holy as the moon
Hold my hands
And whisper down
Remember, god created
The Devil,
His perfect match
Sacrificial lover
Bleed me over
An altar made of grass
Surround me with river snakes
Until i can finally taste
The close of my eyes
And their Holy breath
Mingled
On my open, smiling lips.
Betwixt
I feel power full. Dark and engaging. That place that is no longer poetry,
but not quite paragraph. This is me, slowly. Letting the words come, themed,
dressed in green, and a little pink. i am winking to myself, from up ahead. I look so healthy,
so pretty, all alive, and often barefooted.
About the Creator
Justin Black
I write mostly poetry that flows from feelings, and I enjoy accidental and intentional rhyme.
All photographs are my own
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