Sunday, 30 December 2012

Kait Forest

(writings by Kait Forest

they are simple
they confuse me

they show ugly things in a beautiful way
they are unusual 
they are frank 

some of many reasons why I find them truly brillant)


I'm alone 
even when the wine is there, even 
when it is gone



got a thing 

for women in white dresses,

legs broken and

like the knot 
of a dead man's


  note 22

you are the thin sliver of thought 
that graces my thighs as i
undress for him


the arch of my back in
staccato rhythm does
not rise you from the

you are still dead 
and my dance is as 
heavy as the earth i 


i am sorry that the only
weight i carry for you is the 
pnumonic ache in my bones



i've been 19
for two months

and here is what i have concluded:

even though
your body has become the
woman your mother always
was, the

boys still don't
unless you're bent over their bed frame

calling them god.

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