Close your eyes.
Ten, nine, eight.
Imagine the great blue new,
the you of tomorrow.
for five you are alive and taking up
the spaces between seconds.
two hands like the clasp of a door,
pull out your hope and let it be more
than just this feathered
am kennedy, “New Year”
We are days away from a new year! How are you guys? Ready for 2018? Personally it’s been a good year for me. I made tons of art, wrote some good stuff, worked on my instagram, and saw some beautiful places.
This evening I’m posting my Top Ten list for 2017. It’s a nice summary of which things I wrote were most popular here on Tumblr. (For a list of my own personal favorites, see anything I put in my art journal.)
I hope you’re all doing well, and that this new year treats you kindly. Thank you always for all your sweet messages and tags!
Happy New Years!
x AM Kennedy
Almost is the crush, velvet and warm rose,
we sit on the rooftop trading time in pocket memories,
and if we buzz where our fingers are almost but not touching,
there’s no one here to see the spark.
In the elliptical orbit we are almost,
we are potential with a leash around its throat,
the imminent choke.
Forgive us the timeline we never make,
the things we never create,
the way our hands never fold into each other.
In a thousand years
we spill so much inevitability into the coffee,
dilute it to a brown cosmic swirl
We unfurl, fall apart to paper memory,
trace each other’s palms in dreams that are
but never really there.
You give me clutter-rust,
my heart chokes on gasoline fumes,
these lungs flutter like broken birds
beneath Pisonia trees.
Am I hunger or am I food?
Are we lovers in the end,
or just codependency?
am kennedy, “The flutter”
Let me, says the starving girl.
She scoops from her heartstrings at the dinner table
and serves dessert.
Who is hungry when there’s so much to fear,
when there’s all the soft, supple redness
of the chest left to give?
Every night we sit around the table
and gorge ourselves sick on love that is not our own.
The starving girl says,
this is how we make a home.
What is a glass, a bottle,
a throat and belly burn
in the wake of all this cold water?
If this is a rescue,
which one of us is in distress?
I digress, regress, remiss, dismiss,
it’s just that the way the sun rose this morning
looked more like opportunity than light-scour.
My love, a burden,
and you, the witness,
and we, and we,
swallow down the burn
as if it makes us
am kennedy, “Solidarity”
Let it go, you know,
that woman has never tucked you
into anything so safe as a bed.
She said, i love you,
but that’s not what she meant.
The cement in the bottom of your heart
means that sometimes you
sink faster than you swim,
but then again the brine
tastes better than tears,
better than all the fears
she read you as bedtime stories.
You’re a bad buoy but a good sailor,
a turn of tides that would
make a grown man weep
could he see how carefully you keep
your head above water.