tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84520437070585389692024-02-20T15:46:31.033-08:00Danielle Dennis: Poetry & ProseDanielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-35889136376163230512017-03-09T20:19:00.000-08:002017-03-09T20:29:31.176-08:00Dust Can't SettleHow I wish you’d extend<br>
warm hands in a cold winter<br>
slim fingers ‘round my neck <br>
like a noncommittal noose<br>
loose sliding from grip <br>
the world sleeps behind us<br>
our illuminated backs <br>
wasting the sun <br>
<br>
Dust can’t settle <br>
where the light creeps in. <br><br>
By the nape of my neck <br>
lifted limbs softly dangle <br>
in the mouth of a hunter <br>
smelling blood in the snow<br>
I will give you this doe <br>
apathetic, red speckled <br>
on a promise you’ll throw <br>
whatever’s left in the fire <br><br>
Dust can’t settle<br>
where the light creeps in. <br>Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-46786234872270111182013-02-16T04:53:00.002-08:002013-02-16T04:55:13.533-08:00Epitaph<br><br>I can’t bury us where<br>
we’ve always belonged –<br>
six feet under (six thousand<br>
long miles) with a pinch<br>
of your kisses and<br>
all my conviction<br>
scattered<br>
in the spaces<br>
where you liked me to be.<br><br>
If I could just return<br>
all your poetry – a gesture<br>
you make in your moments<br>
of madness; the hourglass<br>
web that cradles you.<br>
How can I miss you<br>
so wholly, at all?<br>
In our long witching hour,<br>
your vacant half-three<br><br>
breathtaking ghosts<br>
sputter from your<br>
cigarettes – you spoke<br>
of that skyline like it<br>
actually moved you – what if<br>
(let me move you!)<br>
I could be<br>
your haunting<br><br>
No, I’m not ready<br>
to bury you.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-42850060484444890132012-11-12T09:29:00.001-08:002012-11-12T09:29:40.119-08:00Villanelle<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;">
She spoke of ghosts when I was young<br style="margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />Of heartbeats swallowed by the walls<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />Yet I could smell the devil’s tongue</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;">
<br style="margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />My eyelids fluttered as she sung<br style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />My Playboy mommy, us her dolls<br style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />Songs of ghosts when I was young<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" /> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;">
Us little girls once prayed, once clung<br style="margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />To her long legs to break our falls<br style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />Yet I could smell the devil’s tongue<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" /> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;">
One breath of her collapsed my lungs<br style="margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />Nightmares born from her shrill calls<br style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />One ghost alive when I was young<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" /> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;">
From my dear mother’s mouth, she hung<br style="margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />Those pretty dripping words for brawls<br style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />The sting, the smell of devil’s tongue<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" /> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: 10px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;">
With steadied vengeance I once flung<br style="margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />blood from my lips to make her small<br style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />I learned of ghosts when I was young<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" />I learned to steal the devil’s tongue</div>
Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-34776606770733262582012-11-06T01:47:00.003-08:002012-11-06T04:01:32.294-08:00Cadavers for God
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The dawn cracked upon my eyes</div>
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but had no yolk, so I blinked through<br />
the bland fogginess with no real hope<br />
of redemption. I no longer feel the pull <br />
of direction as I navigate my way <br />
to the culprit. Demagnetized <br />
with heavy crosses to bear<br />
<br />
guess I’ll file for unemployment. <br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">The North drove me insane for years<br />
upon years – wrapping myself in bearskin<br />
I felt the arms she chose to never wrap <br />
around me. So I’d flee to<br />
the East for my reincarnation<br />
but they said I’d need the exorcist first.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve lost my divisibility, I think, <br />
but leaded hands don’t know much <br />
about nothing. Us wanderers steal <br />
precious space from the rest</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">But we’re great cadavers for God.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span>Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-67198082579444251062012-10-15T18:44:00.001-07:002012-11-06T01:52:32.013-08:00Phoenix, Arizona<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">the desert brought</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">
my greatest harvest – <br />__________<br />
<br />
the other man’s dust<br />
rose swiftly <br />
from the dunes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">all the grainy details<br />
blinding me<br />
as one<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
the calm post-storm <br />
under-<br />
whelming.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">__________<br /><br />
at first, I could’ve sworn<br />
you were a mirage <br />
out there – <br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">the seeds you carried<br />
birth barren plains<br />
from rough hands<br />
<br />
the peace on your face</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">
once dishevelling.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">__________</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">the longer I’ve<br />
lived here, the more<br />
primal I feel. The more<br />
<br />
at peace with the <br />
pieces I could never<br />
really settle<br />
<br />
Even indigenous <br />
to the art<br />
of becoming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-64481573856125103722012-05-02T21:49:00.002-07:002012-05-03T08:23:53.592-07:00Midnight’s Cartographerpale earth, dark sky<br>
reversed – these fingertips know<br>
these hills pressed close above me,<br>
the ivory spanned<br>
in plains across my chest<br><br>
you often leave this night<br>
brighter<br>
in your half shadow.<br><br>
I shake<br>
as your lungs pound against<br>
these ridges, these ribs<br>
I once drew, plunge<br>
into the hollowness<br>
of each collarbone<br>
waiting to be filled<br>
with my breath<br><br>
when this land grumbles<br>
in hunger, I know just<br>
when to brace<br>
for the shake.<br><br>
you are an endless map<br>
to be filled, my love<br>
an earth unalike<br>
to discover<br><br>
and I: an unmarked night<br>
a sky with mismatched stars<br><br>
with constellations to give you<br>
moons I wish you’d name<br>Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-4401632947716940362012-02-15T20:35:00.002-08:002012-02-15T20:44:49.073-08:00AdamI saw you in<br />our poison apple, in love<br />with a different kind<br />of dream. Our skins – bereft<br />of life – slithered ‘round<br />our thinning ankles in a<br />single, tender coil,<br />abiding. <br /><br />You never feared it – <br />I know that now. How I loved<br />your kaleidoscope eyes as they<br />danced in this small room and yet<br />somehow always found me. How<br /><br />I loved the way <br />we merged, our braided limbs and <br />molten eyes, yours ever searching<br />for that sanctuary awaiting –<br />spiraled patiently, reluctantly<br />on a small patch of carpet.<br /><br />Oh, how I loved you,<br />how I loved you raw. <br /><br />Crawl back in that decrepit skin <br />as if it cradles you <br />to sleep. I saw past<br />your stale horizon, to a pulse <br />and flame, carved gold; to a <br />labyrinth of beauties and fears<br />that bring a man like you<br />to tears. But crawl back<br /><br />into your sinner’s cage<br />if it holds you tighter than<br />anyone could. I’ll set this bed<br />alight, I’ll watch you slink away – I’ll <br />lie down in our dear relic, <br />an ever-burning rib.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-12866276554074260842012-01-25T13:15:00.001-08:002012-01-25T13:17:00.962-08:00Disembark<br>She left me silently in the morning<br />and only once she was really gone<br />did I wake up. Maybe I knew she was <br />there all along, hiding for her grand reveal,<br />hoping to make the two of us<br />swell with our pride as we stood<br />patiently by the gate. <br /><br />But she could hear what you<br />were thinking, my lover, so she<br />waded away from me unwillingly<br />with hopes we would find her again.<br />I hope I find her, too – that I will<br />one day take her into my arms<br />and thank her for leaving me so that<br />I never had to choose to say goodbye.<br /><br />She could hear <br />what you were thinking, my lover,<br />but as she slipped away, I lost <br />the part of you within me, I lost<br />the sense of completion behind<br />your stone cold eyes, I lost<br />the beautiful feeling that you could<br />one day love me, I lost <br />that gold horizon, the chance <br />I’d ever love myself.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-52144545152246770042011-08-13T19:49:00.001-07:002011-08-13T19:49:48.659-07:00Moon-tides<br>It was on this day that your Lord had made
<br />that I reclaimed my tender mystery. My destiny
<br />shook beneath me, settled itself between
<br />each of your folds, shattering against the shore
<br />as a collective sigh, one wave. And to think
<br />you thought you were something
<br />without me. To think
<br />of a lover’s stroll along the coast
<br />without the clamoring voice that I gave you,
<br />of the angry release you inflict upon the earth
<br />until I strip your high tide away.
<br />
<br />I do it all with a whisper, what you attempt
<br />in Triton’s scream. To dance our waltz
<br />you chase the curvature of my hip,
<br />navigate each intricate step through
<br />desperate fingers in my hair. You take pride
<br />in this slavery, swell with joy as the corners
<br />of my mouth soften, a smile to break
<br />the barrier between earth and sky –
<br />
<br />my permission that molds us to one. So
<br />with clasped hands, intertwined, with the hunger
<br />of fiends – your sea foam illumed by my Luna’s light,
<br />my moon, ever brighter, because it’s touched you.
<br />
<br />But be wary, my seamen, when the smile fades,
<br />when the moon woman wanes, retreats to her sky.
<br />Be wary when I fade for your new stillness
<br />will haunt you, left alone to your devices, nothing
<br />in my wake.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-23785153401617867992011-05-21T02:32:00.001-07:002011-05-21T03:11:50.129-07:00Le Premierin the iron, we are clad<br />we were won by something mad<br />that drinks fools empty. in the earth<br />in the fire, in the wind, that<br />sweet, sweet water<br />we are still what we once were. in the<br /><br />moments that I find you,<br />when I sink, dissolve inside you<br />i am breathing for<br />your name. but my wind<br />it cannot reach inside the part<br />of you that preaches<br />false desire<br /><br />i can pick us up as ghosts<br />who left their entrails in the hallway<br />where i met you. i’ll show<br />the heart of every haunting<br />the beating of the drum<br />pounds soft inside you. but when<br /><br />i crawl back in your bed, hold <br />your head between my hands<br />i’ll know i’m holding something less<br />than the man who reached inside me<br />grabbed my lungs and eyes to blind me<br />and ripped my air straight from<br />my chest. if you see me<br /><br />softly ringing the bell that sculpts each <br />wasted second in your memory<br />get on your knees, say your hail mary’s<br />pray that i’ll still be here standing<br />in the ruins of our love. that love<br /><br />erupted life inside me, built a fortress<br />from thin air, put the poetry in the words <br />that i once spoke, and as I stand<br />here stone in stone weezing heart<br />and broken bone i can’t help but think<br />that you might be the one.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-17298114651996036362011-01-08T14:31:00.000-08:002011-01-08T14:32:05.815-08:00The Lover of a Ghost<br><br />I’m the lover of a ghost swallowed<br />by Arachne’s famished aspirations,<br /> <br />by her beguiling professions, her<br />ever-soft asphyxiation<br />her sweet gossamer grip, the shackles<br />seeking love requited. I have<br /> <br />heard his faded testimony, I have seen<br />him take the choke. I fell upon him<br />with my midnight veil, and in the center<br />stood my eye— waxing, approaching full<br /> <br />bleeding out my soul’s conviction.<br />And in my lightness shone his chains—<br />his spider’s art, her labyrinth web<br />and spoke the moon to a dying man,<br />“I promise to help you live.”<br /> <br />He begged for me to wane, he pushed me<br />through the velvet night. He almost loved<br />Arachne’s bites and chains, sweet throbs<br />of fruitless guarantee.<br /> <br />Yet I’m the lover of a ghost who spins<br />his own web of indecision, I’m the lover<br />of a man who can save anyone but<br />himself.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-31366962434810710902010-12-05T15:51:00.001-08:002010-12-05T15:51:42.609-08:00LandingI came to you many miles above the world,<br />caved into your touch, shuddering in the wonder<br />of merging with another, of the nuances of fate—<br />flying intertwined for a reason. <br /><br />Miles above the world, your heart beat <br />as you watched me. I could feel it through <br />your chest, pressed against you in our seats<br />molding to your body more and more<br />with every sigh, wishing that we never had<br />our separate destinations. <br /><br />We weren’t ready for the divergence. To pass<br />through the barrier between earth and sky, <br />to touch firm ground, marked dark with borders<br />and names, the ground where you were known<br />as one distinct life and I was known to be<br />distinctly, painfully another. <br /><br />You’d later haunt me with your softness.<br />I remembered you while in the grip of another, <br />tossing my body exactly where he wanted it, <br />pushing and pulling for his selfish release. <br /><br />I thought of you, of the way you loved how I blush,<br />of the way I eased into you and you eased<br />back into me, of the satisfaction it brought you<br />to gently bring me higher. In your lips, <br />I briefly tasted what’s as bitter as is sweet—<br />recognition beyond my bare body in a bed, <br />awareness of how little my silhouette really says. <br /><br />I crave you, the way your eyes drank me in.<br />I crave the tinge of fear in your voice<br />that reminds me I am loveable, I crave your<br />endless questions that remind me<br />you can hurt. I know I could’ve touched you<br />with the same care you touched me, I know<br />how much I could’ve given you<br />in the fewest precious hours. <br /><br />But you stopped the fight we once believed in<br />for us, for the coming together in whatever<br />way we could. I understand it, all your caution,<br />our one heartbreaking difference:<br /><br />I wanted you, to escape my lonely for a while,<br />and you don’t want me so your lonely never comes.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-77000932121474954272010-11-02T00:19:00.001-07:002010-11-02T00:19:08.535-07:00Forgotten, AwakeI fell through the world and landed<br />in a poorly lit dream, where androgynous<br />shadows dared I sort them from the rest<br />through my kaleidoscope eyes, with<br />bated breath. This is where<br />I found you, in a world<br />where the negative spaces do<br />the talking and all the figures<br />with no mouths smirk in the dark—<br />knowing I am blind behind<br />vanity’s pleading eyes, knowing<br />that the beauty had a youthful beast.<br />This is where I found you and<br />this is where you’ll stay, once I<br />grow up, grow away from this<br />self-loathing sin and begin to<br />be forgotten, begin to<br />fall awake.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-52041974739762284492010-11-02T00:18:00.001-07:002010-11-02T00:18:19.067-07:00A Kiss For a KingdomI can never know the art<br />of loving you when<br />I keep molding all love<br />into art. I bleed<br />on these pages until<br />my pulse whimpers<br />and stops, until my heart<br />will kill for each little<br />breath it lost when<br />I spilled on your lap<br />this red ink.<br /> <br />I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep carving<br />in bitter fool’s blood.<br />It keeps me alive<br />in my desperate hunt<br />to haunt you, reminds me<br />of all I’m willing to give<br />to sculpt you into<br />what I need you to be, <br />to somehow create<br />my own divine control.<br /> <br /> And it all starts again<br />(with this same paper and pen) —<br />I take the kiss that you give me<br />and weave our new kingdom,<br />I take all this self-loathing<br />and give it your name.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-1160009246724966242010-10-11T08:40:00.001-07:002010-10-11T08:40:40.030-07:00Glass Messiah<br>I have a crown of thorns twisted in my side, its<br />bleeding and festering<br />and somehow healing me from<br />the inside out, wrapping<br />its arms around each<br />muscle and vein, stretching<br />and squeezing until<br />I stop. I stop<br />fighting back, stop asking you to<br />make me holy again, stop<br />begging you to give<br />me a reason to pull<br />this tiara out of me, wash<br />it with some holy water and<br />wear it on my head<br />like the messiah<br />I was meant to be.<br />I stop bathing my own<br />feet, kissing my own<br />footsteps, weeping<br />in my own untimely death and all<br />because I’m not as satisfied<br />as Jesus was to be<br />naked and forsaken.<br />I can’t pretend to love myself<br />well enough for you<br />to love me, too. So please<br />leave me on a dirt road,<br />make sure I’m shoeless.<br />Break both my legs<br />and say, “walk.” Break me<br />beyond recognition,<br />enjoy the clamor of<br />shatter. Fuck me up<br />so badly that I have no<br />choice but to start<br />from the ground up.<br />Douse me in self-loathing,<br />wrap me in the ugly truths,<br />believe that I shouldn’t<br />be believed in.<br />Because I’ll never make myself<br />into anything until<br />I’m absolutely nothing<br />to you.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-26244041251093722082010-09-06T12:39:00.002-07:002010-09-06T12:40:21.400-07:00A Nautical Room<br>Your sweet breath swells<br />into mine, fills a sail<br />softly undulating as if<br />the winds of the world<br />waned away. You blow<br /> <br />heavy on my back when<br />the sound of your<br />discomfort fills the room;<br />you slip into<br />my sheets and watch<br />them billow above us,<br />giving half-satisfying<br />direction towards a<br />horizon lost. So we<br /> <br />sail on, buck up,<br />tie our shoes and wait<br />while sea water slaps<br />against the hardwood floor<br />and the breathless coastal fog<br />hovers above our bed. So we<br /> <br />wait for the instant when<br />I can make you better, wait<br />for when ecstasy isn’t<br />a curse, wait for<br />the moment when you can<br />finally love me, wait<br />for the day<br />I raise mast by myself.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-31329620571910145032010-08-28T22:13:00.000-07:002010-08-28T22:14:37.559-07:00Untitled (prose piece)<br>The moon swayed against her bare back every time the wind pushed with enough vigor to weave her body left. Its light hugged the swell of her breast, swiveled down her side unevenly. For a moment, she was fully exposed in the paleness. Then the wind would rise up again and the broken pendulum would shift left like before, swallowing her body in darkness. She eluded both the dark and the light, unable to balance herself on the grass below her naked form. So she swung back and forth, left to center, dodging the shadows for the light before involuntarily swinging back into the black again.<br /><br />She was used to this inconsistency; the artist in her could sense it from simple moments like this one. Everything became a metaphor once she acknowledged her thirst for one. She wanted to believe that her inability to stay still was somewhat uncontrollable, like the way the beads of a kaleidoscope fall with the slightest movement, like the wind that eased her sideways. So she spent a good part of her evenings on the grassy hill behind her house, rising and falling with each breath, swinging left to right inside of the evening's unpredictable beat.<br /><br />This is the woman I fell in love with. A woman who defined herself by the world surrounding her, a woman who eased her way into the universe as precisely and delicately as I eased my way into her mind, into her open body. This woman was poetry that flowed in the perfect places-- her hips melodically dipped into her waist and rose up again, billowing into the fullness of her chest. Her eyes were the punch line that killed, that broke the immaculate curvature I knew so well. Sometimes, I'd find myself lost in her softness, wrapped in the overwhelming effect of such subtlety. I'd watch her write in bed, following her lips and her hair and her spine and her fingers until she'd catch me staring and stare right back, breaking her general sense of tenderness with something staccato and poignant. Her eyes reminded me that she had meaning; she had a distinct and riveting pulse. She existed beyond me; she existed beyond herself. <br /><br />And then she fell in love with me in return. She let herself succumb to the warmth between us and melt, molding inside of my every breath. She abandoned each curve that she loved, slapped her arms lifelessly around my ribs, dropped the look in her eye that once kept me hungry. All of a sudden, her pulse walked in step with mine. <br /><br />I was lost—slithering away from her on a buttery track that she had kneaded with her own hands. Each touch became a more and more obsessive attempt for completion; she searched my body with her fingers, frantically seeking any trace of herself in my skin. And as she slept, in her only gentle moments free of desperation, I realized that she had cascaded into the most beautiful loss of self that I had ever seen.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-23135278790129196072010-06-18T19:39:00.001-07:002010-06-18T19:39:32.926-07:00Syncopation<br>I told you to put your head there <br />on my chest<br />as we lay in our bed. <br /><br />I wanted you to hear my heart beat<br />and seamlessly float into<br />its rhythm, <br />our rhythm <br />of delicate sways and boundless ease<br />with no name and face<br />and age, no<br />latitude and longitude. <br /><br />I wanted your heart<br />to not be alone for a while,<br />to follow.<br /><br />As you sleep, I collect<br />your snores and sighs<br />in a jar under our bed. I swallow them<br />like water, gulping you in<br />until morning, when<br />you insist to once again<br />become plottable.<br /><br />We split, we multiply.<br />Into all of our moments<br />without one another, into all of our<br />feigned strengths,<br />embellished and worn,<br />adding distinct recognition<br />to each syllable of our names,<br />differentiating.<br /><br />I climb into this bed—<br />our bed—<br />and watch the demarcation.<br />I watch you lean into<br />my body and consume<br />the smell of my skin, I feel<br />your palms stretch<br />underneath me, their<br />desperate hunger<br />for completion.<br /><br />We have diverged and we<br />have merged, monogamous<br />in a moment, synonymous<br />in an experience.<br /><br />I hate myself for loving<br />how you love me<br />whatever way you can.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-8040053204408251492010-05-10T15:37:00.001-07:002010-05-24T12:40:21.705-07:00To Drink<br>The stains it left on my body leech<br />the artistry out of me, chafe<br />at my skin from the inside, brand<br />my face with a number, leave me <br />here for dead. And while<br /><br />suspended between life and<br />the chance to live without you, I<br />ricochet between your palms<br />with no life at all. There’s<br />nothing here to excavate, no breath.<br /><br />No lips, no lies, no justification<br />for the way these words rise up<br />to my chest and stop when<br />you give me a few foreign tears<br />to swallow. “Rub your throat,<br />baby, gulp down your pride<br />and let the breath and the heartbeat<br />drown with them.”<br /><br />So I drink you in with half-assed prayers.<br /><br />I drink for the way the house sounds<br />when the sound of your unease<br />floats away. I drink for the smell<br />of your skin in the morning<br />before you have the chance to<br />come clean. I drink when<br />you need me to, when I can feel<br />your cries swell up in my lungs<br />and escape my body in sighs—<br /><br />I drink until I can’t drink any longer.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-81962380628292277032010-04-21T23:34:00.001-07:002010-05-24T12:40:48.890-07:00I Want To Howl<br>I want to howl—<br />to wake you from your half-masted sleep<br />and force your white flag up or down.<br /><br />I want to peel away the sky<br />and find an unwritten metaphor<br />for everything I could never explain,<br />and then maybe re-carve all<br />the lines on my face so that<br />you could help chisel them away.<br /><br />But I’m tinged red<br />from the numbers on the clock,<br />binding me to the sadness I never feel<br />from the look on your faces<br />when there’s nothing left to say. <br />I’m bound to the familiarity a child feels<br />while clinging to her new mother’s skin, <br />and to all of the sickening sweetness<br />that chains me to vacantly belonging.<br /><br />I have never felt bound to you.<br /><br />I want to howl to the moon and the earth<br />and the stars<br />and I want them all to howl back at me<br /><br />because one idle moment and I’m<br />howling at the sea,<br />wishing it had worked <br />to keep us from the shore.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-8352730342061869002010-03-08T23:04:00.001-08:002010-03-13T16:12:44.274-08:00Invisible Blood<br>I was never fully satisfied, chasing you <br />on heels that weren’t yet broken,<br />dodging the defenselessness you allowed me to feel<br />like it was a bullet soaked in a plague.<br /><br />But this Achilles found her weakness <br />when something in her ankles snapped<br />and she surrendered to the ground<br />apologetically.<br />I clung to you in spite of myself,<br />a tendril clasped for dear life<br />around the stoic woman<br />who found so much warmth to give<br />when needed in another’s darkness. <br /><br />You work only by the moonlight,<br />working only with your hands:<br />silently, I watch you wrap your fingers <br />around my limbs<br />like an irrepressible vine, <br />attend to my reservations<br />like they belong to your own blood.<br /><br />Blood—<br />an indelible tie of which<br />we can never be fully conscious; <br />the endless space we make in our womb<br />where ends don’t ever have to meet.<br /><br />I’m on this earth to share the bonds <br />that warm my aching body,<br />here in skin and bones to watch <br />all of these bones break, <br />absorbing all the life you have to give<br />so that I may one day<br />give it back to you.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-19911042557385113422010-02-17T07:17:00.001-08:002010-02-17T07:17:51.930-08:00Witching Hour<br>In September, he found his witching hour, <br />while the rest of the house was asleep<br />and I was the only one left<br />to switch out the records for him—<br /><br />To sing “teenage wasteland” with him, <br />to top off his rum for him, <br />to light his cigars.<br /><br />In September, it was cool outside<br />but his body stayed warm.<br />I sat in the cold with him, <br />rocked in the wind with him,<br />my eyes following the furious sway<br />of his body with him. <br /><br />But he wasn’t furious with me.<br /><br />Baba o’Riley excited my father.<br />“Doesn’t this get your blood going, honey?<br />“Don’t you just need to hit something?”<br /><br />I watched him dance with it, <br />the heavyweight bag flying seamlessly<br />between his drunken fists.<br />I watched him with frozen veins,<br />with all the need in the world<br />to sit still, to never hit anything<br />like he could. <br /><br />He took his last swaggered punch<br />and I jumped to break his fall—<br />clinging to hands that know<br />my blood all too well;<br />haunted by a breath<br />that once kissed me goodnight.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-66949999173857425642010-02-17T07:16:00.001-08:002010-02-17T07:16:53.576-08:00A Benevolent Ghost<br>You’re haunting me.<br /><br />You, like everyone else<br />Like the astronaut<br />Who called on the girl next to me<br />When my hand was held higher.<br />Like the man in the movie<br />Who helped Charlie blast his way<br />Through the ceiling in a glass elevator<br />But would never, ever help me.<br /><br />You’re haunting me like a plague,<br />Swallowing me like sour beer, <br />Licking me up from between your fingers<br />to help clean your newest scrapes.<br />What is it about blood that’s so<br />God damn satisfying to you? <br /><br />You’re haunting me like <br />You have nothing better to do,<br />No one better to love,<br />No other way to sleep at night--<br />Thinking I’ll understand <br />If you would just wait till morning.<br /><br />You’re haunting me:<br />Like a wicked poltergeist, <br />Like all the loving mothers I’ve ever met,<br />Like all the sweetest moments<br />That we may never have.<br /><br />You’re a ghost that I’ve only ever seen before<br />when it’s chained inside of myself.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-33679223402584378002009-12-31T12:50:00.000-08:002010-01-17T21:41:44.127-08:00My Eleventh Hour<br>I caught my own breath in my hands<br />and took the time to breathe it back in--<br />sweet and satisfied, stale and strangled,<br />spangled with lavender and sour milk <br />and what it means to be nationless.<br /><br />Tell me you smell something different.<br /><br />Tell me I'm bound to what I give<br />but never to what I am given;<br />that I can choose when the balloon pops,<br />when my corpse falls earthbound;<br />that the rushed and eager touches<br />I collect under my bed<br />can be quilted into<br />a sickening new height of love.<br /><br />I can't remember who told me<br />that I wasn't young anymore.<br />It might've been the stout cashier woman<br />who proclaimed me a thief when I<br />slid a Snickers bar into my pocket.<br />It might've been my Playboy Mommy:<br />she warned me of the sins in my blood,<br />of her own obsession <br />with a woman's power to unveil.<br />Or maybe God told me on the day<br />when he made me suddenly<br />wretchedly<br />unequivocally alone.<br /><br />On this ancient earth, I'm rarely glad to seem young--<br />until I'm tangled in sheets<br />and limbs I can't get out of,<br />until the simplest mechanisms of<br />a beating heart lose their intrigue<br />in my stoic desperation for blood.<br /><br />Tell me you smell something different on my breath;<br />Tell me I can choose to be boundless.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8452043707058538969.post-46904616299140994302009-11-15T00:01:00.000-08:002010-03-27T11:20:00.388-07:00Turbulence<br> This is more of a ranty, confusing piece of random than anything else.... <br /><br />I was reborn in a storm— power out, phone lines tied; the weather too shitty to step outside for much needed air but this house had a roof so it was alright. They had a great survival pack for this type of thing: cans of beans, a bottle of wine and matches—many little matches that lit many little candles around the house that cast many little shadows on the family photos that lined the walls. My father said to her, “you know, honey, we’re running out of time.” So she sat on the floor and she spread her legs and she pushed for a minute until I finally gave in and came back to her.<br /> For a second she thought they’d soon get the power back in their empty house. When I was reintroduced to this world, she says that I illuminated the living room for a moment— bringing an instant of light to the darkest corners of what was once a mortuary. They are the ones who chose to stay in the house where they once prepared their dead, not me. So I collapsed under the phantoms they insisted on avoiding— that I saw in their faces, shrouding me like loose skin until I was nothing more than their writhing baby on a hardwood floor. A baby with arthritis and crow’s feet. <br /> But I learned how to crawl and I learned how to walk and I even now know what it means to run— even if only in the dark, down the hallways of my home. But out there— in a world where everyone else is chained to some greater good or their self-induced bad—that is where I insist to be chained to everything. Give me all the scriptures of the world and I’ll pick a few and scrapbook a mantra. Hand me a single dollar bill and give me a dare—I promise I can do more evil without even spending it than you think I can. Outside of that house, the haven from the storm, the midwife’s reluctant office, the place I once grew up— where they once put makeup on stone faces and still sleep in caskets, just in case—outside is where I run much too fast.Danielle Dennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14968613742653692416noreply@blogger.com0