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Heather Feaga


Cotton

A lick
A love a taste
Pursed lips
Holding the kiss
In the reds of her skin
Her fingers gather
Free
Across his arm
Over her hip
Landscape wet
Sweetened condensation
Tight warm hills
Shed their cotton 
Free
Breathing in sun
Melting her
Waterfall sheer
Dropped to him
Measured pulse
Each breath 
Free

God

I've imagined you
Inside me
Working wires
Tugging bones
Setting sirens high
Your
Hardened
Surfaces
I lay upon
The scrape and peel
Make me
Yours
Through me
Bleeding together
Stripped
Layers deep
Wrapped in all
You
Naked where you want
The most of me
Without question
I like it
With your words
I come
Being
Stoked to life
Yours
Do to me
The everything
That makes me closer
To god
You


forest

Bladed shadows
Whir through minutes
Where skinned landscapes
Drew beneath fingers

Winter reigns glass dry
And wives sleep
Drifted down torn from
Shallow goose flesh

Rutted canyons
Break with smiles
Mud stained walls bleed
The yet unknown

Specks of change
Rattling pockets
Like subway tokens
I stand

In this old growth forest
Tasting dew
From mossed leavings

Waiting for the sun


heather

A wavered petal
Broken from a woody stem
Purple splashes the browning
Grave of earth
Heather is a weed
Railing against Love
Maligned ice chatters
Move north to quieter climes
Her roots felt strong
For once
Never before
Now
Split in twos and threes
The going deeper and
Without the definition
Of direction
She spreads like a greener grass
Fresh cut
Severed
Still a weed
She wants to give in
To summer heat
But repetitive motion
Of broken hearts
Suspends her ascension to the Sun

heart

Cross hatch
Penciled in
Graphite
Beats
Sticky
Black dust
Mingled
With each
In
And out
Jumped skin
And pushing
Bones
Stretched
Spread
Danced with
Last breaths
Littling air
To bubbles
The paper
Thins

Slivers

Like a sliver 
I will sleep
In the crevices of night
Like the night
I will slip
Into her shallow openings
Like her
I will seep the colors of day
Across the tips of my fingers
Like fingers
I will discover
How to move you
Freely
Like freedom
I will blindfold you
And lick you clean

Strangle

Maybe it's time
To hang the words
From snow covered branches 
Listen to the sing 
Of stretched twine
Writhe and swing
Maybe it's time
To choke air
Out of words
Until they lay
Lifeless on my lap
Fleshed
Made minutely 
Of paper thread weaves
Dissolve water
To tears
To stab at skin
The ball point feels
Rivulets down blue
Shredded paper whites
Spring 
Flowering in the weeds
Petaled pigment twists air
The braided rope
Sweetly scented
Strangling
Her brothers


adagio

The earth quakes
At the move of you
Electric stretti
A shifted staff
Lifted to light
Science fictioned in
Tacet
Between noise

You
The adagio
Bring the still

To the otherwise not


ode to the flu (formerly "in the event of my death")

Deep yawn
To Labored
Breath
The event
Of
My
Death
To die
Listening to the
Quick muffled whoosh
Of tired organs
Complex simplicity
Chattered clatter
Creaking floorboards
My lungs heaving flesh
To walls of thinking
Wailing
In my very head
And I wonder

Who will care
For the things
I care for

My opus existence
Sad waves
Of color
And thought
Spindled fingers
Gripping pencils
To pens
I tried
To create
Better puzzle pieces
Never
Fitting together
I
Scalpelling softest tissue
Grafting to villagers
To become monsters

I tried

My cells
Divide to prisons
Just scratching the surface
Painted plastic
Beneath nails
My silver bullet
Like currency for the rich
Floating on borrowed blankets
One stitch each
I soak into the holes
Tiny as pores

And the futility of it all

forward

bone crushing coo
small birds flutter the sky
black
wingspan
stone dropped
the feathered dirt
still

Picture


​Heather Feaga's profile



Hurt

Near-miss bullets
Striking light 
Metal spread
Closed-eye confetti 
Legs reach right
Bent akimbo 
To double Ss
Calipered apart 
She broke
Splintered home
Filling
From the inside out
His gruesome
Turn of calf
Fair skin facade
A wood lathe 
Stretched across his back
Hydraulic strides
Closing the gait
To the give way
This love
Masked
Kidnapped
I used to look
At his shoulders 
As he stretched 
Now the curl and sleep
That bit of hurt 
Pushing breath 
In the moment
Held by bones 
Shattered 

Glass

The window
Broke still
Stopping light
Bone crushed coo
Small birds flutter the sky
Black
She crushed too
End to end

the thinker

Her feet
Curled awkwardly
Beneath her knees
Cross legged
On soft bedding
The bruises
On her thighs
Where elbows rest
Holding her face
Wet
In her open hands


left behind

Slithed snake’s
Molted skin
Naked
Left behind
The motionless casings
Away the blades
To grow a new
Unkind
Transparent scales
Tapped out plates
Left behind
Sun jostled
To die
Wind rustled
To dry
Each petal shaped
Soft uneven edge
The size of an eye
Between these fingers
Two
Braids of cotton
On spined needle
Glinting light
In and out sinew
A tongue’s last breath
These flowers
Left behind
Birthed from serpent skin
Cherry blossoms
Scatter the road
Too pink snow
Crunch beneath my feet
Static lefts
In angel shapes
I miss her
Now


every morning

Three
Forty seven
This
Every morning
Cold footed
Winter will soon be over
Shattered quiet never
Sleeps
Green glow
From lit numbers
Burn
Washing white walls
Just to see
A spun fan
Ceiling side down
Estranged shadows trail
A Vickers Wellington
In constant fall
Between snores
Of the cat
Love
In electric skin
Every morning
The wait is ages

Picture

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