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
love
the one thousand and first (after Richard Siken)
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
Film: The messes we made are my favourite works of art (Iceland 2018)
I’m filled with no small degree of joy to share this video today! This is a collaboration with one of my best friends Luke. This might sound familiar to some of you, as well it should, as he used my poem OG9A8757.jpg as the text for this video, which he made of a trip we took to Iceland with our friends in July of 2018. Please head to Luke’s website to check out more of his work, as he’s one of the most talented (and severely underrated) photographers and videographers I know. Enjoy!
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.
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.
Symphony no. 12
Only I know the beating of my heart
From the inside of my body,
Against my own ribs, locked in my own flesh.
And it is good to be free this way.
Once, I let someone else hear it
Through warm sheets and soft hair
He laid his head on my heart
And heard my love for him
With which I filled myself to the brim.
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
Lament 139
There is no god but Cupid
What a villain he is become.
With what vengeance come you,
Why pierce you my heart?
You cannot have it. You cannot give it.
I say this every time you do.
Copyright © Technicolour Typewriter (Lucie Vovk) 2014-present. All rights reserved.
weather
She was lightning
and she was just the thunder
who followed Her like a lapdog
rumbling from afar
she was
an echo
of Her glory
A Technicolour Typewriter 