Tag: Kari A. Flickinger
Brísingamen
My fire at your clavicle—I balance above milk. I was broad and fair—longingly I looped my maiden’s neck. Men wrote me off as worn stones—stripped me of my name. A vast leg of amber—lost to time’s cold reduction. **** He wanted me—borrowed. Never. Blue—bruised. The great ash hall hid under Read more
Sounding
Words sometimes settle between thighs. Eye up—all night think how I don’t your shoulder brush, cough don’t, you away, leg. I don’t acknowledge your mouth when you’re talk -ing, how can you? Talking such silence between an affect. Sounding pangs liquid off every windshield tears the sky open. Tears, tears. Read more