a whoosh! around the sun

On this day, precisely one solar year ago, the two of us went to a cafe, ordered hot chocolate, sat down, and created the alas! poetry blog. It has been an immensely creative yet inconsistent year. In the year to come, we will expand our blog in a plethora of directions, and post a great deal more regularly :)

We hope you are enjoying the ride and are ready for part two!

Vessels of Flesh and The Ever-Dying Mind

If I don't like this poem I'll write another; If I miss my bus I'll catch the next; If I have to wait out in the rain I'll look directly up, breathe in the cold fresh sky, and hope I soak all the way through; And if I fail out of college I'll still have paper, pen, and passion; And if I lose each and every one I love I'll still have memories no one can take away; And if my body dies and takes me with it, I'm sure some time I'll be reborn as human?, bird?, a plant?, a rock?, a cloud?, a one we can't imagine?; If every single god comes to an end a new one will respawn; If the simulation shuts some one will make another; If the cosmos freezes another will take over, as I'm sure it already has countably (or uncountably?) infinitely many times; If time comes to a complete and utter stop it will resume with not a moment passing; Laws of physics come and go; Universes spark and fade; Time branches and curls into some aleph-dimensional fractal; Gods and simulations, heavens and afterlives, times and spaces, speeds of light and strengths of gravity, chemistries of life and the imperfect vessels of flesh and bone who contain the mind, are all so inconsistent; And so is the mind: I die every single second and am born again, and so does the bizarre world I exist in; I am some one's reincarnation, and some time some one will be mine; So if I miss my bus I'll catch the next; And if I have to wait out in the rain I'll look directly up; And if I die I'm sure I'll find a way; And if I do not like this poem I'm sure some other I some other time most definitely will;

summer sat inside outside, watching

[ID: A blackout poem from a book by Gin Phillips. Some of the blacked-out areas include drawings of flowers, roots, plants, and an eye. The edges of the page are also decorated with various designs. The poem reads as follows: Summer - sat inside - outside, watch - ing, - doors - kicked in - locks, and - rooms inside, offices and storerooms - hiding - closets, - pile against a door. - quick - and tempting - shove on - glass - budge! - everything is dark inside. - SPOOK! - spin - arms are tight around her neck - spent - off-balance - An invisible man / Sleeping in your bed / Who you gonna call? / Ghostbusters. - back away - away - back - disappear - nothing]

tapestry

a tapestry of patches of different textures melded together sewn together taped together a patchwork of memories that makes me me thick and rough feels flimsy when you're on the wooden bathroom floor. eyes wink at the tapestry millions and billions and trillions of glowing eyes their glassy stares rip stitches to shreds squares flutter to the floor a thick snow a dry snow a quiet snow we'll stitch them back together me and my dog Zero. warped cloths hug my shoulders as Zero pants teeth white and blinding ready to rip rip rip my tapestry to bits.

sound

i cup my hand over the speaker, trying to capture the sound in my palms. like waves on a beach or time slipping endlessly through a god's hands. slippery dusty soft sound sand that dries and envelops you, leaves that flutter against your arms and legs, clusters of stars in the night sky. one moment and all of time whip around at once the music flows seamlessly, ceaselessly, interweaving with each breath and note.

souls

Late night calls, Math by campfire, Coffee in Dallas hotel, Tea and sugar in the wild, Talked and laughed out in the rain, Read French poems downtown, Climbed a fence in San Jose, Sang a song up on a mountain, And hugged every now and then,

Went together on adventures, Rivers where no one goes, Barns demolished and forgotten, Took a picture of the crows, Wandered off the trail together, Found flowers and cool rocks, Wrote a poem in a book store, Played card games in coffee shops,

Talked for hours in the day time, And spent nights without sleep, Shared secrets, thoughts, and values, Pondered how we came to be, Whom we were our whole existence, Ways we have never fit in, Whom we were when no one else was, Ways we fought the rules to live,

How alike we tend to think things, How we get my and your selves, How we are parts of each other, How we learned from one another, How we grew and bloomed together, How we turned into much more, How we always hugged each other, But how our souls would kiss,

Love through every when and where, Love together and apart,

People come but some don't leave us,

Some are parts of whom we are,

withered sky

Love was a flame of passion, Cacophony of senses, A bird I caught and tried to hold With bare hands, A bird I caught and tried to fit Into a single word, Or sentence, Paragraph, Or poem, Night-long discussions, Adventures in the woods, Hugs in the sun, Kisses in the rain, You dyed my sky the colors I never knew existed,

Yet clouds dissipate, Yet rainbows fade, Yet magic dies, 'Love' ceased to be Big Bang of passion Compressed into one word, 'Love' is now mere movements of the tongue, A habit of some sorts, I love our dying love, I will forever cherish every hug, And kiss, And walk, And poem, That we shared, Yet love has withered, I wish us both to find our love again.

pools

my heart is heavy

is yours not the same?

with every lie i sink deeper

        into    the      ponds

              and        pools

                     of  myself

    lakes are overflowing

      from cave's tight control

         will it always be this way or will I let go?

lone

a memory forgot. like an empty house. or a solitary mountain sentinel its only friends being the reds and oranges of the sunset dying away. like the crows that fly without packs, seemingly alone. and like the flower's petals that drift down in the snow. like a rock that tumbled down\ in grit and dirt and rust like a smile that died down like a candle snuffed. a single note, 'twas left behind for someone to pick up. till then it floating cried its lonely melody stuck.

soda

the broken glass glinted off the street lamp on the corner. the old soda can sang to its own tune a sickening drip drip drip like the sugar liquid spilling over the cracks. the open sign flickered and then it went out a forgotten earring precious metal discarded and abandoned. (pushed by the wind) it went: crack splinter crack drip drip drip flicker bzzZZZzzZZt flicker clink clatter clink and drip drip drip.

post meridiem

seven : thirty-seven; my back on frozen solid dirt, my eyeballs pierce into heaven; i see the dashing yellow lights and scattered neon signs of godless civilization, i cannot hear a thing; people all around on earth, yet not soul with me in space; the cosmos begs: whom was i at birth?; why am i the i i know?; am i?; i'm the kindest sinner, wittiest moron, i'm so alive for someone who is dead; i'm a conscious oxymoron; i breathe in pride, breathe out regret; i reach up into the sky, my hand concealing jupiter and polaris; i close my eyes and the universe stops, leaving but a taste of the past, a taste so sweet and bitter; i close my eyes and the neon signs vanish, leaving but one self-conscious oxymoron: would i be the i i know, had the yellow lights been blue?, had jupiter been my north?; would regretful pride still be this sweet?; am i of virtuous nature?; seven : thirty-eight;

two

i do not remember dying, but i know that i am dead, words have changed in their color, joy has got a diff'rent smell, anger melted into something that i do not understand, hell is frozen, love is liquid, death is dying, life is dead, earth is spinning wrong direction, i and i are not the same, i like thinking i am perfect, but i know that i am not, maybe that is why i'm death'd, maybe why i'll die again, i can't fathom how i'll perish, but i hope i get the chance.

time

What if I was alone

on a river in the woods?

What if it only was

me, my thoughts, and songs of birds?

What if the river could

turn around and flow back?

What if I could have held

my current breath forever?

[Image Description: photo of a blue river dashing through a green forest (taken by me)]

poltergeist

and he walked in shadow

and he wore a tall hat;

hiding up in his tower

or flitting about, crying out

"where did it go, what have you done"

questions of insomnia and of pretend

"never let down, bouncing around"

repeated again and again and again

but a silver rain falls down

(in salty sheets, in blood-red stains)

you're ready to leave this excuse of a town

so turn off the lights

go ahead

and he'll crawl and burrow into your bed.

wow immediately texting art- sheesh, wanna talk abt fast reaction time. so hows your day

context: as soon as the "but are you gay tho" ask showed up in my notifications i DMed Art because, well, ???. Art's friend who sent the first ask sent this one like a minute later to me. i genuinely don't know what these two are doing there 💀

to answer your question, my day has been splendid. i am still sick but i am getting better. might even find the energy to write a poem for the blog tomorrow 💪

for the record this was Art and apparently we have this instead of today's poem so enjoy i guess

but are you gay tho

... sometimes. a little bit. i indulge