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Seriah Black
@seriahblacksheep.bsky.social
Author. Teaholic. World traveler. Musician. Inscribing fantasy and heat one power user at a time. Curveballs, angsty antiheroes, sensual shifters, immersive worlds. seriahblack.com
22 followers48 following35 posts
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SBseriahblacksheep.bsky.social

Is it bad that I didn’t even notice until I reread what you said and intentionally looked for what was wrong? My brain just…accepted it? fixed it?

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SBseriahblacksheep.bsky.social

Needed this after staying up ‘til 4am writing. Thanks for the reminder mouse

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Reposted by Seriah Black
Bupfromsumdirt.bsky.social

the title joint...

The Second Stop Is Jupiter - 0 - there’s no place like home, but you’re not in Kush anymore are you, Dorothy? when making love, leave room for levitation. bite down, but not so hard to break the skin. when using other utensils: consider the tongue, the torso, the collarbones, & shoulder blades. in emergencies, the nape, too, can be a handkerchief; every makeshift limb a floatation device. lol: GIBRAN & LORCA & RILKE & NERUDA & UPFROMSUMDIRT —the romance classicists: their extant kisses a complete collage Liar, Liar, Rants On Fire! - 1 - as a child, say of 24 or 25, your body is still a bellows. there is still the tint of video game to your voice. your “love” is a hoarse whisper; coarse, incomplete, and not yet losing hope. your every poem as rambunctious as some heavy-headed goat with curved horns broken
and butting brows with common decency (or anything else that moves) you’ve not yet grown hooves although your beliefs all chew tin and in your sleep you become some other people’s misappropriation / they ask: what, after all, does a doorag even know about fancypants let alone a happily ever after? tho, conversely, what even could the west know about Elegba In Love? for there are two participants to every car wreck: the witnesses & the ones within. - 2 - the romance you’re trying to reach is disconnected the dialtone drones on. the palpitations are missing, just a mono-tonal pulse. they aimed us all towards their wonderful Niagara but that water just keeps falling down & goddammit our love funnels up! it’s Nigeria, after all, that calls to us. western love is all wicked witches, picket fences and bikini clad Swedes with sweaty breasts and several bottles of beer on the wall, but Dorothy, when the wizard drops his pants pay attention to the swag—is
your bride will jump the groom but if the cow jumps over the moon then you’re in a cursory rhyme and not reality. what you want is at the precipice between gardenias blue and begonias black, a love that looks like you—or at least looks like what you think love looks like when closing your eyes blowing kisses to clouds of heather within your heart—the cardial; the crepuscular. the cosmos is one small cavern; a crevice that leaks god and reeks magic; look closer— porcelain is the purgatory of most men / break it. burlap is beneath the tongue, taste it. its beauty belongs to you: the residue of treasured memory; a chimurenga buried beneath an often borrowed freedom. like any Roman holiday this poem is a pagan ritual praying to a love stripping itself bare, it lays naked within itself and asymmetrically shoulders a sun you thought existed much closer; this poem shudders when it snows and shows sympathy for stolen legacy, knowing the symphony of its
31 eyes open; dreams wide open. * remember tho—the zhuzhed-up sobriquet bequeathed to self under this systemic haze of foreign encampment is still considered—most times—a constraint. - 0 (a retcon) - Dorothy? Jochebed? Zawadi? Zawadi?! Zawadi, yes. yes, Zawadi, there is No Place Like Home but this wind sheared space is Kush enough for us. for all of us. at least—for now
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Seriah Black
@seriahblacksheep.bsky.social
Author. Teaholic. World traveler. Musician. Inscribing fantasy and heat one power user at a time. Curveballs, angsty antiheroes, sensual shifters, immersive worlds. seriahblack.com
22 followers48 following35 posts
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