Brian Trota
Ghost Whispers
There I sat suspended in time looking into time my love that stood there speaking in silent whispers melting every crude emotion, every mortal sin, every regret away with her flesh of heaven of endless time of infinity and I loved her eyes of rainbows blowing through my lungs into whispers of burning rain beyond every death and every ending stream my mouth would never become dry again and she spoke and I listened touching her flesh of flesh tiny droplets evaporating close to the windows of pain of love that drowns on empty plains I whispered this time I will never leave I will echo my breath against your body in life I will understand it is here never to be alone and he spoke to me in a language where words faltered he became an image of my memories and those dreams I dreamt that time are endless and my body is warm from his body whispering love the ghost in my body is now alive living this time I love his tears on my breasts that call me to live with him I am here to feel the cruel hints of dawn call to my body to leave if I leave and my hands bleed and his eyes fall and eternity is a never that grows forever where the infinite twilights play with this ghost our love within a quiet whisper that is this ecstasy and they spoke without light and darkness in the twilight where I grew speaking to brooding walls where love is blood as the sun grows I awake and follow these steps and wants these forgotten bodies beating in mine without faces and time’s spirits of time grows I am the time that love surrenders between them and I call in the night as a ghost I know that death can never claim as death has always been love.
First published in Geist #62
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Gregory Jacobson
"An intellectual is a man who says a simple thing in a difficult way; an artist is a man who says a difficult thing in a simple way."
-Charles Bukowski
the Sylvia Plath Effect
The Sylvia Plath Effect: Mental Illness in Eminent Creative Writersby James C. Kaufman
Two studies involving a total of 2149 writers and other eminent individuals found that female poets were significantly more likely to suffer from mental illness than female fiction writers, male writers of any type, or than eminent individuals in other fields. This finding has been dubbed the "Sylvia Plath" effect.
Diane Arbus
"Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats."-Diane Arbus
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