pelt in the dark stream,
its chiming distance muting
nadirs and zeniths,
I choose the bright apices
by gravities’ granite lip.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
pelt in the dark stream,
its chiming distance muting
nadirs and zeniths,
I choose the bright apices
by gravities’ granite lip.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
Dyslexic, yet I
write too much, the same frayed ends,
or should that be ‘to much’ –
you may read it either way;
we write to much the same ends,…
A billion raindrops
fall like all the promises
you forgot you made,
cold, tired, soaked to my bones
I seek trumpets in the storm.
submerged origins
stretch this jazz of blues to gust
bright brine-washed being;
I see clouds and wings trace Pi
sweeping up a cyclone’s tail.
*trigger warnings regarding chronic conditions, including particularly serious ones Migraine I recognise Sensory disturbance, I’m calmer knowing what it is; My brain On fire, Waiting For full diagnosis Thinking of Dad’s aneurisms, Anxious, My sight blurs I am fire and ice Pressures rise Behind eyes; I had brain damage at birth, Now…
the circus
of would-bes and was
held within
hushed chorus
spilling into each other
in needed trust, begin,
February snow,
Crocuses and I make bold;
Time wears many coats
Of blossom, rays, rain, and ice,
Thus, my words will don them too.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
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