A poem Cracks in the Sky it's snowing I can just make out skeletal hands, stretching away from naked bodies a patina of dark cracks cascading across the grays and whites of the sky so uniform in it's banal chaos until I grab my glasses bare branches, swaddled in clean, soft, new snow, reach outward and upward divested their autumnal finery, yet still holding the promise of new life, maybe In a new year they're too separate from the unyielding grey to be the cracks in the facade I saw moments before the sky didn't change same grey white uniformity, encompassing my world threatening in unequal measures, danger, beauty, and futility the clarity isn't bad there is honest joy to the dance of flakes, falling from their grey white prison, movement, energy, individuality for a time all too soon they will rest among their fallen sisters I like to imagine it's a comforting rest, well deserved, well earned it's always there the fear that each flake is allowed to dance, to celebrate her freedom for but a short while, before she joins her sisters in the suffocating blanket across the land She may find joy in her fall, but her landing, her corpse, those of her uncounted sisters, all subsumed by the collective 'snow' a grey white downy jacket of corpses, all so the ground might resemble their once prison. I miss the cracks in the sky Bluesky Logo Phenn.gay Twitch and YouTube logos PhennofLore

Cracks in the Sky

Last year, I spent the holidays trying to connect with my partners. We'd been having issues since a kink scene in June where, while pretty deep in pup space, I was rather suddenly rejected and abandoned.

Borne of Root or Rot?

Cultivar is one of my favorite words ok? I didn't mean to use it in two poems in a row, but it was that or use what will be the final piece in between and… well I guess it and this are both… heavy at best.

Breaking or Broken?

There we go, made it to the final of the three poems I wrote together. To Be… What? and Joy certainly had a different vibe. Apparently that’s what happens when I’m inexplicably inspired to write weird number sequence poetry while watching my girlfriend/mate/handler and her friend play DDR.

Un-done Un-ity

I did say I was interrogating some heavy shit and especially dog/puppygirl idiosyncrasies. I don’t want to talk too much about this one, as I fear speaking to my intent or perspective would read as prescriptive. So I leave you to contemplate.

Of Sweetest Succor

Yes, I saved the extremely lesbian poem as my opener for the final day of my silly Pride poetry project. A lot of my other final day poems are going to be heavy, complex, or are directly interrogating some of my own, seemingly universal, dog girl idiosyncrasies.

Just a Fib

Just a Fib

I’ll be honest, this one was an attempt to be cute, but ended up with something kind of heavy. I really shouldn’t be able to make something this harsh when my seed word was “fib” but I ended up sort of fixating on the banal ways the lies of those with power are framed.

Anxiety

Fuck. I’m not really ready to talk about this one, but I should anyway.

I said in the To Be…What?’s write up that I wrote it, Joy, and one of tomorrow’s poems simultaneously and that they were the first three I wrote intentionally using the number sequence I built this little project around, but they weren’t the first poems written. That dubious honor goes to Anxiety here.

To Be… What?

If I remember correctly, this was the first of the poems I wrote with the intent of using the number sequence as a through line. I wrote Anxiety, which will be out later today, first, but there it was, well, what am I saying, you can read a ramble about that poem in like an hour and some.

Mathematics

Mathematics

Today’s poems are probably the most or second most un-subtle ones when it comes to my silly numerical theming. Best of luck!