these two hands and
your full lips like
envelopes like
paper cranes and
the snow or grass and
the shelled-out school bus
and the blueberries pressed
between grinning fingers or Continue reading
Poetry
spell for the sea
i sit by the sea and call it forth
it sends me waves and waves again
i ask for more and so they come
and sweep me out away with them
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
the one thousand and first (after Richard Siken)
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
Goldfish
Cities are forgetful creatures.
They inhale lovers and exhale street corners
On which we exchange first kisses or phone numbers.
Seconds after leaving, the tarmac will lose the heat of our footfalls,
The camera pans left – the stonework sighs, witnesses, does not remember come morning.
I left for a year and returned only last week;
Under my belt I have tucked months of memory and new lessons.
The city knows my gait and I fall back into step with her
She does not ask where I’ve been, and does not care to know,
But tugs at the new bells swinging at my waist and tries to reabsorb me.
We’re much the same, you see –
Outwardly unchanged, inwardly transformed, both ill-equipped to discover quite how the other has changed on the inside.
OG9A8757.jpg
It’s the craziest thing
I woke up this morning and all I could think of
Was your smiles lined up like wheels of cheese
Eyes like river stones in clear sunshine
And hands pulling me up to run with you.
The spray of the waterfall tastes like liquid laughter
It runs down my back and settles at the base of my spine
And giggles through me for the rest of the day.
Storms come galloping towards us
And we feed them apples.
Soul-searching
The bear does not leave footprints.
Its paws touch pine needles but not earth
Its breath forms clouds
White and nebulous and warm.
Where did they go?
Self-care, or ‘my cat is giving herself a rim job’
My cat is a ballerina
Or perhaps a conductor
Her raised leg is the baton telling the violins to sing.
Her tongue is the hand of Jesus our Lord,
Cleaning away our sins.
The sunlight streaming through the window
Alights on her fur; she is a phoenix rising
Shaking off the ashes of her litter tray.
I reach to take a photo but just like that
They symphony has struck its last chord
The phoenix has taken flight
Jesus has risen to heaven.
The goddess Bastet slinks away
I return to this mortal plane.
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
‘I cheated on my boyfriend and got crabs’: a haiku
‘ode to pubic lice’ by my dear sister who wishes to remain anonymous so this drawing doesn’t show up next to her name on professional websites
I told my boyfriend
“I sat down in the shower,”
I’m a good liar.
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
the lateness of the hour: a conversation
“you could stay”
I can’t
“stay tomorrow”
I will
“you should go”
I can’t
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
Ode to Natural Disaster
My girl is like fire
She is rage and hunger and light
She dances on my funeral pyre like she was born for this,
Her feet scorched by her own heat,
Her eyes bright with her own fever,
At once alive and dying she flickers
Leaves behind scars too deep to conceal.
I can watch her and forget myself.
A Technicolour Typewriter 