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audible graphite: May 2009

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2009_05_01_archive.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. Just the sound of ceiling fans. Moving cool air over. Sweat and skin,. Reminds me of summer naps. Trace the creased bindings. Of old paperback novels. Breathe in the smell of old things. And tiny tin cans of snuff. Just the sound of sleep. Weighing lifeless upon me. She catches the rays of the sun with her teeth,. And laughs to echo everything good. Her eyes soften with concern. Her lashes never lower with shame. And moonlight over a gravel road. Afterwar...

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audible graphite: no.7 from displaced

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2009/12/no7-from-displaced.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. Lying in the light of christmas. I squint to see. The constellations wrap the fir. And wait for shooting stars. To carry me back to myself. When i didn't offer gifts. When i moved like a woman. Spoke like a woman. Thought like a woman. Before i lost myself to you. So i reach for the next branch. And search the surface of old ornaments. To find a reflection of myself. Press it against my chest. Beneath a new wall made of eggshells. Toward a new light.

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audible graphite: a locust in winter

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2009/12/locust-in-winter.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. A locust in winter. She gave birth to new thoughts. Under the restless northern lights,. Each shift of shape and color. Spelling the names of other places. Climbs from peak to peak. To follow the moon across the sky. She hides fallen stars. In silver sleigh bells. And plants them in the snow. Something might come of this. Pulled tensely between treetops. In pursuit of the magpie. The scent of morning. Falls on four-leaf clovers. To return to her self.

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audible graphite: 7:52 am

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2009/12/752-am.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. I woke up inside my head. Full of doubt and delusion. But i floated inside. And shoved each letter of thought. Through small vents in my skin. I caught them with my tongue. And spoke them into small jars. That i hid underneath my bed. 15 December, 2009. I caught them with my tongue and spoke them into small jars. It reminds me of catching fireflies and putting them into jars like wishes. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). A locust in winter.

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audible graphite: June 2009

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2009_06_01_archive.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. I have only now been able to post this. i wrote this three years ago after the death of a very dear friend. june 3rd marked the third year of his loss.]. Smell of fresh rain and wet concrete. The leaves moved to applaud. The napes of necks. Tears turn to mist. To form a fog of you. But we planted a tree for you. And you painted the sky. Your shade of blue. And a warm orange. I hope to make apple pies. While i was smoking. Of a robin's beak.

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audible graphite: a poem for midnight

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2010/04/poem-for-midnight.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. A poem for midnight. Nothing makes a sound. So i fall asleep to. The hum of my thoughts,. A quiet and constant stream of. Only for the mere act of. And i perform for myself. And i perform for you. Until my muscles weigh of memories. That i have no intention of keeping. In the absence of sound. I watch myself move in circles,. A tired shuffle,. A push and pull of the in-betweens. And i just want to let go. And sleep deeply in this silence.

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audible graphite: i'm afraid i have nothing to say

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-afraid-i-have-nothing-to-say.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. I'm afraid i have nothing to say. A voodoo man stole my voice. In a dream last night. He didn't like my cigarettes. He stood over me with. And all i could do was stare. At the spanish moss draped to frame. From every other dream. Clotted in my throat. Dressed in his sunday best. The voodoo man stole my voice. I became envious of the swamp. And prayed for a jazz funeral. Black umbrellas and polished brass. And i'll bury my thoughts because. 14 April, 2010.

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audible graphite: April 2010

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2010_04_01_archive.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. I'm afraid i have nothing to say. A voodoo man stole my voice. In a dream last night. He didn't like my cigarettes. He stood over me with. And all i could do was stare. At the spanish moss draped to frame. From every other dream. Clotted in my throat. Dressed in his sunday best. The voodoo man stole my voice. I became envious of the swamp. And prayed for a jazz funeral. Black umbrellas and polished brass. And i'll bury my thoughts because. A tired shuffle,.

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audible graphite: December 2009

http://audiblegraphite.blogspot.com/2009_12_01_archive.html

A collection of written pieces by abby whisenant. A locust in winter. She gave birth to new thoughts. Under the restless northern lights,. Each shift of shape and color. Spelling the names of other places. Climbs from peak to peak. To follow the moon across the sky. She hides fallen stars. In silver sleigh bells. And plants them in the snow. Something might come of this. Pulled tensely between treetops. In pursuit of the magpie. The scent of morning. Falls on four-leaf clovers. To return to her self.