https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/category-1831-week-of-nbsp-08-08-11 en 2005-2012 shakespearesmonekys@gmail.com 42.65593 -71.33391 Tue, 09 Jun 2026 14:47:21 GMT yacs http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss 70 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12953-se-gero-humanus https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12953-se-gero-humanus Profano Mortuus Mercieca, Andrew Mosquitobytes Volume 14: Contemno Venum - 2010-2011 Sat, 13 Aug 2011 14:02:05 GMT /section-804-mosquitobytes-volume-14-contemno-venum-2010-2011#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12953 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12953 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12953 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12952-caecus-est-diligio https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12952-caecus-est-diligio Profano Mortuus Mercieca, Andrew Mosquitobytes Volume 14: Contemno Venum - 2010-2011 Sat, 13 Aug 2011 04:24:17 GMT /section-804-mosquitobytes-volume-14-contemno-venum-2010-2011#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12952 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12952 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12952 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12951-petit-moineaux https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12951-petit-moineaux i. the sparrow sings in the morning on wind and amber notes. i know his voice, know his song, know we live in cages we erect ourselves, nests where we hide acres of beauty. yet somewhere his ache is my ache. ii. a true sparrow has claws, a beak and two wings. i have none of these. iii. it is not inertia that keeps me a woman. gravity will take my skin, my breasts but not my hair, not my bones. my hands will hang suspended in the air, as if in flight, swirling through the dust motes. i will feel the sun on my skin and wonder the elegance of birds in flight. iv. a sparrow sleeps two by two by two. we have our own dichotomy: my pair of breasts pressed to you, two hands sliding down vertebrae, hip bones and lips touching two by two by two. v. i will not be crucified a Jezebel for red lips nor ivory skin nor suffer the lithe tone of sinew etiquette laughing with bronze throats and rose tongues. we are all of us flippant and none as perfect as the other. vi. and the sparrow will soar. throw me from the window i have already fallen. 7/9/11 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:15:22 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12951 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12951 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12951 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12950-fish-bones https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12950-fish-bones i. i have not fed the fish in weeks. they spin slow ripples above the surface tension of the water, dart up and down up and down up and down. somewhere beneath the driftwood lies the bones of an unfortunate casualty. its bones sway in the current: stark white ribs like fingers stretching toward the surface. in my own bed i lay with the light on my face, feeling the spaces between the intercostals. i know what hunger feels like. ii. because it is winter i pile the blankets over my chest, up to my neck. my hands are cold but you will not feel them. instead i watch as you undress as a crop of gooseprickles spreads over your torso. tonight you will not warm my bed with your pale and snaking arms writhing from beneath the covers. tonight i will hear the fish splashing in the darkness and fall asleep with my ghosts. 2/9/11 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:13:30 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12950 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12950 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12950 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12949-quickening https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12949-quickening i. the boxes are stacked above me, towering with a sense of unease I've felt since a child. we pack our things inside four walls, we pack our things inside our walls, always inside. ii. I stand outside the store, loitering in the snow. my lips are blue as my scarf, cheeks white enough to mask the snowflakes and tears that fall upon them, ensconced in silence. I am empty, but I press my fingers through my coat to feel if something will press back. somewhere a baby will fill the clothes in the window, somewhere a woman is pregnant, but she is not me she is not me she is not me iii. being for the benefit of love, I can no longer draw lines in the sand, I can no longer watch as the waves dissolve our boundaries in foam. we are miles from the ocean, we are miles from anywhere, we are we are we are we are iv. there is a quickening in the way the tires hit the road, gliding across the frozen asphalt; it will be Spring soon. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:12:26 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12949 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12949 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12949 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12948-memento-mori https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12948-memento-mori I. the ants have found fresh kill. they march mechanically in and out of their holes they have tunneled through the earth. i wonder how they do this i wonder if one of their six legs they use as tiny hands to gently move each grain of dirt, smaller than a pebble, smaller than a crumb i wonder if they think of cells and how they orchestrate these tiny grains with their tiny hands into their home, into nothing II. she was buried on a school day. it was cold and it rained and i wore my tights with that green dress my mother would make me wear to church. i walked under the tin rooves to the resounding thundering of my thoughts, like a million tiny ant feet skittering and pattering and running through my mind until i wanted to scream like lightning until i wanted to run to run to run to run to run III. her skin was not black. it was the color of cold coffee my mother drank in the mornings after she fixed my breakfast after she fixed my hair after she fixed my tears when she told me ashley was gone i looked for her on the bus but her seat was empty and cold and the color of coffee my mother drank IV. the rain continued to fall as we stood under the eaves as she lay surrounded by white ashley was not white, i wanted to scream she was my best friend and the dress she wore was not her dress, the doll she clutched was not her doll, her fingers were too stiff and her eyes oh god her eyes they buried her without her eyes V. somewhere in Texas there is a grave in pink granite and the ants march tirelessly, tunneling, ever tunneling through the earth like great roots spreading around a casket, cradling a seven year old's petite, white bones 12/01/10 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:10:59 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12948 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12948 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12948 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12947-as-the-night https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12947-as-the-night I am not afraid of dying. It is the living I fear for, as the nights endure in slow, lacunal embalmment. I am drained; my anxieties all that is left in the fleshy frame of this body I call a woman - a veritable Pandora. I am not afraid of dying. No - I am afraid your hands will tire of the weight of my breasts pressed against you. I am afraid my lips will no longer be welcome to wrap themselves around your hard shaft, taking you in deeper as I suffer your moans, as the night lingers in apathy. I am afraid the sheets will stay too clean and crisp when you are not there, when I part my thighs to touch the quivering wetness that lays between them. I am afraid of never giving myself fully in the throes of marriage and sex and orgasm. I am afraid one day I will lose the strength of character to tell you I am done I am done I am done I am done. 11/29/10 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:09:56 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12947 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12947 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12947 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12946-i-ve-never-known-snow https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12946-i-ve-never-known-snow November was the death of us. It would come with the mist of rain, gray mottled skies and the chill of winter digging into old bones. We never wore mittens back then. Never learned to throw a snowball, never made a snow angel, nor gave birth to a snowman. We only knew of ice; the world outside our glass house. At night we would be ushered into the cold. Play, she would tell us. Dinner will be ready soon. But we both knew what that meant. The window would close with a lengthy sigh, the drapes as wide and deep as the night. But you could still hear the yelling, the slaps, the sound of a heavy fist making contact with bone. And all the while no snowflakes fell, no icicles chimed in the moaning November wind, and the cat would sit at the door meowing for his dinner. 11/18/10 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:08:33 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12946 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12946 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12946 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12945-odin-s-song-postpartum https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12945-odin-s-song-postpartum I. Nine days I hung from the boughs of great Yggdrasil; limbs wrapped tightly 'round my neck - a choked and dry tongue scraping across lips as I tried to speak with the taste of ash and leaves in my mouth, as I prayed to Odin, as the branches clawed at taut skin and a swollen belly. But the runes were silent. II. It was there from the depths of my womb he was ripped - bloody and screaming, as my arms reached for him, as the branches silenced my tongue with ashes and leaves, as Odin swallowed the last of my voice. And still the runes were silent. III. I do not know the husk of this body anymore. I do not knows its skin nor its hips nor its breasts nor its curves. I only know of blood and placenta, stretched skin and an empty belly, my body a broken Ragnarok. IV. He speaks to me in runes, and I know him; I know his skin as his tiny limbs wrap tightly 'round my neck, as my arms swallow his body in a close embrace. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:06:31 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12945 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12945 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12945 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12944-diligo-viscus https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12944-diligo-viscus Profano Mortuus Mercieca, Andrew Mosquitobytes Volume 14: Contemno Venum - 2010-2011 Fri, 12 Aug 2011 12:00:59 GMT /section-804-mosquitobytes-volume-14-contemno-venum-2010-2011#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12944 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12944 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12944