Growing Out of Stagnation Public

The Dissection of a Poetry Series

Goal: My goal is to not only share a moment of poetry with the audience but to also create an image that presents the poem like a page out of an anatomy book. A cracked open chest cavity with my words weaving the front of the spine. Objective: Explanatory and thorough, but short descriptions branching off of different sections of the poem that indicate tools of poetry used such as alliteration or assonance. Following along with that would be creative photos to match certain lines to indicate the imagery within. And other anatomical characteristics to outline the poem.

Poems included in Growing Out of Stagnation (1) My Missing Tooth Fill the gap between my teeth where my dreams collect. Explore them, take solace in the space. I wish to carry you, my special cavity, fixed in a world, worlds away. You can sleep on my nerves, eat my crumbs, drink my saliva. When I'm done with you I'll lap you up with my tongue, swallow you whole swallow you with my other tired dreams. I will have loved you to the pit of my stomach. But soon you’ll be gone far away from the place only I could hold you. (2) Sommer, Lady Shrub rose and creeping thyme, Lady Sommer runs through the arboretum swirls down the bend of succulents passes the psychedelic mushrooms beneath the dirt in the hidden tourmaline. Promising beginnings, a sweet end. Before the rain when you were born the nymphs surrounded you soft as lavender, crisp as dusk sunkissed, wondering home. The dial spins out of control dizzy between north, south, east, west. A light rain waves her away hurling down the paved, raped Earth. Twenty-five miles more. You have to remember, remember what you saw between the shrub rose and creeping thyme, Lady Sommer. She runs for the hazy mountains, the nymphs wait between the shrub rose and creeping thyme, the honeysuckle and four-leaf clovers, the hum of the solemn stream. (3) Ghost Wolves Dance for Gluttony Write about the wolves, the fallen stars, the ones swirling down my spine. The first time I saw them was across the bar. Once people, mindless people, already dead voyeurs. Loitering. We locked eyes, the people’s eyes blank, black clouds and the warm bodies fell cold to the ground then turned to film, the film on top of a toxic lake. Through the dead mouths I saw a snout puffing out fiery air I saw myself in their teeth, their empty eyes. Their bodies made of mist. They prowl through the bar without bother. Hungry. How can they stomach food? Gluttony, no food or flesh or bone to chew. The soul will fill the ghost wolves' hunger, frightening and insatiable. Bred with the Wendigo, born of the moon’s will. One wolf begins to play the theremin. The others dance and howl. My feet disappeared through the floor. A small cloud forms at my bell. My gums begin to bleed. The theremin screams in my ear, I howl. I’m thirsty, my teeth are dry. The fallen bodies are picked over. Look at my old body, there on the floor turning a cold blue. I howl then I eat.

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