DEWY BRUISES
Blinking in a cusp of jump.
My pupils are the welcome wells to ink’s inaugural
drop.
Having been the bee,
awe-struck and humming in amber,
having swum still in the slow, gold honey bridging time and
eternity,
having sat soundlessly atop the vibrations of the expanded
spring,
flippantly, I am pinched back by the intended touch of a toddler’s
thumb and finger like tacky. A thin spindle of wire whirls currents of energy
into the stemmed spine of my flora.
I wish for a wail from the first and only gull calling back to the howling conch,
frantic in palpitation,
I fight wind’s bite
with fear starched beauty.
Bruised and bullied, I watch a grey sky bend to blue.
Clenched fists unfold fragrant, painted pinions
fresh with dew.
RAIN CUP FULL
Milking the mind of
rain,
,
,
that it might froth
my flattened think-line
effervescing a
point
in the matrix of escape,
so we might coalesce as Godstuff,
alivening to our own dimensions of
enough.
Alex Angeline lives in the Los Angeles area in a humble home by the beach with her unbelievably wonderful girlfriend and their exceptionally discerning dog. She is currently pursuing a Master of Divinity at Claremont School of Theology, while working in the tech industry with a focus on inclusive hiring. A lifelong ambition, Angeline recently finished writing her first full-length poetry collection.