Poem submission by Stephanie Pushaw
Our compasses fail us again and again,
leading us along the wrong magnetic fields,
yet we sail still through quiet seas
under the false mathematics of north.
What the frontier means. Not conquering.
Not masculinity, not
like the blank box on a calendar,…
“It’s not real friendship without homosexual moments”
(via billspiercings)
stay
just a while
just enough
to catch our falling breathdon’t look
as i change
just promise
you’ll still listenif i change the tone
of my voice
it is only
to near
the surfaceif i come out
looking worse
then hand me honesty
honestlythere are words
still left unsaid
before the clouds burstand if it pours
you know
you can always, always
stayhere
actias luna.
once,
when i was young,
an old man told me
the moon was made of moths.
that’s why it rises, he said,
and falls,
and why
sometimes pieces disappear,
flying off
to pollinate the stars.
Prose is my wife. Sure, she may be long-winded, and perhaps it can seem like a grind just to stick with her sometimes, but when I need someone to get lost in, to fully support me, to offer me true love, the kind you have to work for even when it feels like you hate each other, she’ll always be…
