seen from Albania
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Belarus
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from China
Every day, I run for miles. I think of him asleep – tiger lilies bundled in shantung, left on an airport chair – and my wanting is a cult of American bison crossing the blurred silence of a cauterized river.
Scherezade Siobhan, from “Vibratese” (Published in The Kindling)
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Your arched back against the sleek marengo of my chair; ocelot sparkling behind a bonfire. Desert’s first puzzle, threadbearer, a map of lost music. I am sitting here with this almost finished page & I want my mouth to be a loanword from a foreign language. A poem buried in sugared ink, dried on ricepaper, slowly coming to life against the bodyheat of a new light bulb.
Scherezade Siobhan, from “Vibratese” (Published in The Kindling)
