The bad little brother of the Aurorean

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[one_half last=”no” class=”” id=””]Elena Botts[/one_half]

[one_half last=”yes” class=”” id=””]FALL 2016[/one_half]

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i am so quietly i’m so aftermath of the moon and for you too:

part i.
yesterday, we burned the sun out fell beneath the horizon and into the deepening blue and we sat on the bench so the boy could spit and light a cigarette. later, we shipwrecked onto the porch where there was a conviviality, a gathering of lit eyes and faces and a singing of alcohol and she said that her dead musical father used to rent rooms and i didn’t say anything about death or dying because the world around us was another thing expiring. so i mentioned my mother used to be in white rooms and crazy is the ocean in you, of golden light bathed us, her eyes like a mourning dove song got inside and never got out, nested in moment, as the minutes were eternal, breathless, they fell upon us like the kisses of the moon, not even meaningless, what i mean is, i was looking at you and you were looking at me and this was even as it was destroyed, irrevocable or two souls in an infinite dusk.

part ii.
we’re standing in the middle of street in the midnight hour and don’t give me that dream of a smile- you’re crazy and i know it, it’s that you’re wretched wild and so we go to the girl’s room, the one bathed in blue with cloud sheets and star lights and look in but this must be the room of some other girl in some other dream of the world, i’m afraid of wasting those golden minutes of yours. you’re made of something, it’s true. one day, you and i will be real but right now we speak of this place in which we are being and a universe of fatal transience through which you are a rip in the fabric of reality and there is something about me that you won’t say so you look and look and look and let the record play.

part iii.
these days, i just leave my heart out to soak in hydrogen peroxide. i shaved my head, she shaved her head, we all shave our heads. is there a brighter earth than this one? i know nothing more than the glorious shade of every shade of being held in and out of the full-lit moon by the swaying forest in its midnight tune, or, then again, the sun which keeps us in a fever of late summer flies circling the duskening fields whereupon i realize nothing and keep realizing until the heat cools and my skin is open to the sweet strains of the cicadas talking to one another amongst the tall grass and sometimes i just want to drive off into nowhere but the somewheres keep unfolding into the casual dream of life or is it little deaths, closely intertwined like two sleepy people in the aftermath of morning or is it mourning, that is, this relentless feeling of your absence which is easy, empty houses nearly float on the fields so weightlessly i know already i’d do anything for you, love.

part iv.
i am thoughtless today, devoid of being. i am deeply wounded, inconsolable, bathed in the rains of the world, senseless, smitten green and buried by the earth like a sunk moon into the darks of the pooling midnight hour as the stars shoot from mountaintops into the deep wretched graceless mourning of a silent universe in a reckless splendor of unknowing. i welcome oblivion. i lost you. letting go is nothing but so am i.

part v.
i’m tired of being. i’m not looking for anyone. get me out of myself though i have no place to go.

part vi.
into the nevermore.

part vii.
i’m so broken i can feel my own light again.

 

mythologies (adam)

i thought it was funny when you thought you were adam. as if i could be eve. as if there were a serpent. as if we hadn’t been bitten by this terrible affliction of the darkening mountainside as you gripped me in a terror. as if the devil weren’t in your eyes as in mine. as if the heavens hadn’t been broken up into us until we shone with light everlasting to think it was our own.

 

mythologies (echo)

we take turns at playing narcissus, but he is nothing, where is echo now? echo is lost and echo is the heart, echo is the something beating through these long halls of reflected sky dancing upon the water and through it shining a little light like i was named, no it is better to think this is a world of echoes, as in we are each through love deranged, a still echo of all else.


Bio

[highlight color=”” rounded=”no” class=”” id=””]Elena Botts[/highlight] grew up in the DC area and currently studies at Bard College Berlin. She’s been published in fifty literary magazines over the past few years. She is the winner of four poetry contests, including Word Works Young Poets’. Her poetry has been exhibited at the Greater Reston Art Center and at Arterie Fine Art Gallery. Check out her poetry books, “we’ll beachcomb for their broken bones” (Red Ochre Press, 2014), “a little luminescence” (Allbook-Books, 2011) and “the reason for rain” (Coffeetown Press, expected publication in fall 2015). Her visual art has won her several awards. Go to o-mourning-dove.tumblr.com to see her latest artwork.