{"id":3081,"date":"2017-07-24T02:48:00","date_gmt":"2017-07-24T02:48:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=3081"},"modified":"2017-07-25T19:46:14","modified_gmt":"2017-07-25T19:46:14","slug":"clara-burghelea-summer-2017","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/clara-burghelea-summer-2017\/","title":{"rendered":"Clara Burghelea, Summer 2017"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>Aftermath<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>We are not coeval, you and I,<br \/>\nA plume of smoke rises west<br \/>\nOf our mapless walk of stars.<\/p>\n<p>Shipwrecked, the sun knows fact and sense.<br \/>\nGlassed in dreams,<\/p>\n<p>The intellect dances among words of ash,<br \/>\nAnd death is a drum of little pounds.<\/p>\n<p>Even so, I am to find you on sidewalks<br \/>\nAnd roads we named and washed<br \/>\nIn unspoken, instrumental intimacies.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Book<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>It is a sin to damage the spine,<br \/>\nIt is a blessing to ravage the leaves.<br \/>\nI would take your dog-eared love<br \/>\nTo all the cold stares lingering,<br \/>\nWithout the sudden urge to taint.<br \/>\nI shall not be consigned to silent<br \/>\nPrison or oblivion, dust on heart.<br \/>\nI will not stand a vessel of static<br \/>\nPaper, trapped on a shelf of ache.<br \/>\nI want to be wounded, split in two,<br \/>\nTaped, inhabited, marked, and slit.<br \/>\nHave my essence inhaled and then,<br \/>\nCrushed by the weight of passion,<br \/>\nOld-fashioned way and exposed<br \/>\nTo your hands, eyes and breath,<br \/>\nBandaged by will and twisted<br \/>\nBy power of redeeming lust.<br \/>\nI want your palms to bruise<br \/>\nMy world of words untamed<br \/>\nAnd this feel of cloth in your<br \/>\nFingertips to wear us down.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Aftermath We are not coeval, you and I, A plume of smoke rises west Of our mapless walk of stars. Shipwrecked, the sun knows fact and sense. Glassed in dreams, The intellect dances among words of ash, And death is a drum of little pounds. Even so, I am to find you on sidewalks And [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-3081","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v24.2 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Clara Burghelea, Summer 2017 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/clara-burghelea-summer-2017\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Clara Burghelea, Summer 2017 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Aftermath We are not coeval, you and I, A plume of smoke rises west Of our mapless walk of stars. Shipwrecked, the sun knows fact and sense. Glassed in dreams, The intellect dances among words of ash, And death is a drum of little pounds. 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Shipwrecked, the sun knows fact and sense. Glassed in dreams, The intellect dances among words of ash, And death is a drum of little pounds. 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