The Archive
Poems, essays and stories from the first iExile, restored with their original titles and writers, year by year, oldest first.
2013
Thanks, Giving Turkey
A special day for us all
Yet, o turkey, poor, poor turkey
You’d rather yourself recalledIncubus
Ask me not what I think of you
My dark tongue could desecrate your pupils
Time breathes, time heals, and time knifes your scruplesSnow in the Summer
In her spring I met her
Loved her in her summer
Her leaves didn’t see fallingHoney and Olives, Somber and Sober
I like to snack on olives
I like healthy treats
But, hon, do you even care
2014
Hole in the Whole
I looked deep, deep into the whole
And the bottom was there, so close
The bottom... so close... could’ve just swallowed meOf late
I’m late
the century just passed by carrying the breathable
ticketless, on the red painted curbUnloved
What more is yet to lose, A broken soul cannot choose, dropped without much concern, A…
Batman and the Maid
However sad for a true man
It has been said that a woman
Either loves or hates; she knows no mediumof…
I wouldn't start the email with a barren dear or I hope this finds you well...
I want to be polite like a gentle summer rain after the drought
and lascivious like a baby born naturally, I want.Down There
I do not want to die
But I do not care if I did
A day, two months, ten yearsMetaphorless
I’d like to fuck mountains in the ass
Forcing their lava subside in the liver
Cirrhotic and moonshinlessJewel of Denial
The sun, he made a late appearance
Hungover, he rose up woozily
Beating, burning, itching badAfter the crash
I like the way I'm restored
in a new window
firefoxed by the houndsNo Ar
Está nas paredes
Um sonho lento, só, urgente
Muito são para ser dementeDoing God
I wish, I were, I was impotent
While going around the skies
Finding a lost godShe
She was jealous not of me
She was jealous of herself
If another looked at meWombless
Once wombless
Death is upon like a testament
Marrow of fearThe Drowning
Hmm... I like your walk, I love watching it
The thickening’s on, the ticking is down
Tick-tack... tick is green; tick-tack... tack is brownTo the other poet
I often dream
Of the poet
Whose qualmsA Long Friday Ago
I hate bugs
I can’t stand bug people
Cocoons lie