The Disco Floor

My socks are socializing on the bedroom disco floor.
It’s a party and we are dancing to chaos.

I belted my song last night,
tone deaf
and rythamless.

Everything is screaming.
Everything wants cake.

Yellow Sweater

YWP Alumni Advisor

Poetry

By Yellow Sweater

τό καλόν, τό ἀληθές, τό ἀγαθόν (Transedentals)

The woman wears her skin

like a bathrobe.

She stands in the middle

of a golden field,

weeping fresh water.

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By Yellow Sweater

The Storm's Eye

The sky
blows in more snow,

a breath
from frozen elsewhere.

There is a storm
raging

inside the silent rage
of the storm,

inside God’s eye,
unopened.

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By Yellow Sweater

Cubism

‘"With your pictures you apparently want to arouse in us a feeling of having to swallow rope or drink kerosene.”
– Braque to Picasso

Maybe it’s as simple as this:
Maybe God’s hundredth name is His face.

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The Disco Floor

Yellow Sweater

Comments

More by Yellow Sweater

τό καλόν, τό ἀληθές, τό ἀγαθόν (Transedentals)

The Storm's Eye

Cubism