{"id":8232,"date":"2014-10-31T09:00:51","date_gmt":"2014-10-31T13:00:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=8232"},"modified":"2014-12-04T13:26:47","modified_gmt":"2014-12-04T18:26:47","slug":"poems-by-tyler-vile","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/poems-by-tyler-vile\/","title":{"rendered":"A Collection of Poetry by Tyler Vile"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Lotus_585x585\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Compost<\/strong><\/p>\n

In a garden of weeds
\na worm recedes through red clay,
\ncovering itself with tender coats
\nof treason and slithers gray\u2014
\nalmost floats on fruitless<\/p>\n

If it does this properly, it will
\nbe compared to fingers and
\nnot trains but still, the soil is
\ntoo bland to be tilled and
\nthe grains too strong willed
\nfor green streams.<\/p>\n

It wraps itself like a paper ream,
\ninching against itself, arched
\nlike an eyebrow, flinching\u2014
\nhelpless, drought-parched,
\nand digging for a scrap
\nof an apple core.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Traditions<\/strong><\/p>\n

Every year, we go where the deep and digging mountains talk
\nabout dirt-knuckled pilgrims who knelt at charcoal feet of boulders.
\nThe sky seems to rip open and leave the moon a desperate shade
\nof red or pink, we never can tell. The moonlit oaks seem to sing
\nin the ripe and untested beaks of crows.<\/p>\n

Long and hungry against our knuckles, grating and callusing
\nour palms. Our plans, our home, our religious rock. We don\u2019t
\ndare to hush its quiet. In the old hierarchies of the yearning-line,
\nthe begging, black-eyed daughters caught themselves sobbing.<\/p>\n

The nights we spend in the carriage of the mountain eye,
\nmake up for the days lost to boars in the blackberry bush,
\nIf not for the mannequins, we wouldn\u2019t need to build houses
\nfrom icicles. When will we learn that the cobras coil around our
\nprayers and climb ladders made of gravestones? It would take more
\nthan a table made of wood to keep these letters in this pile.<\/p>\n

The sun rises in the slumber of our mouths, melting the tin in our teeth,
\nevery piece of cloth that we own is married to stains. Rubbed in April-colored
\ndirt, sweat gluing hair to brow. We barely need to open our eyes. Watch what
\nwe call history. If we\u2019re not careful, we might scrape remorse from the horizon.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Creation<\/strong><\/p>\n

There is a God,
\nI invented her last night.
\nShe doesn\u2019t have flesh yet,
\nbut I\u2019m thinking of making
\nher labia out of three different
\nforeskins. Her eyes will be marbles,
\nher teeth will be wood, soap, and bone,
\nI haven\u2019t found the right hair yet, but
\nmaybe a lion\u2019s mane or a slab of black granite.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Paper Lotus<\/strong><\/p>\n

The flower floats and tears
\nitself past bone-white
\npyramids in faithless
\ntributaries. Muddy
\nsunset lulls \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 old winds past banks
\nof gravel.<\/p>\n

It pulls\u00a0\u00a0 sage smoke from the breeze<\/p>\n

and jumps from the bosom of
\na burning wheel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Smother<\/strong><\/p>\n

All the nights of all
\nthe kids heaving and
\nhanging and holding
\nhands.\u00a0 Heaped like
\nweakness miscarried
\nin saltwater, trembling
\nat the first sign of sons.<\/p>\n

You\u2019re barely visible,
\nbut somewhere you\u2019re
\nall straining fistfuls of
\nwhite sand in the defiant sun.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Tyler Vile is a physically disabled queer transwoman who writes and performs poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, essays, and much more. She has been published in The Bicycle Review, The Round-Up Writer\u2019s Zine, and Bluestockings Magazine. She is founding editor of Gender Justice Review, a regular contributor to Punk Globe Magazine, and has performed at Washington, DC\u2019s Capturing Fire.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In a garden of weeds
\na worm recedes through red clay,
\ncovering itself with tender coats
\nof treason and slithers gray\u2014
\nalmost floats on fruitless<\/p>\n

If it does this properly, it will
\nbe compared to fingers and
\nnot trains but still, the soil is
\ntoo bland to be tilled and<\/p>\n

READ MORE.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":223,"featured_media":8303,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,219,199,217],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8232"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/223"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8232"}],"version-history":[{"count":16,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8232\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8320,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8232\/revisions\/8320"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/8303"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8232"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8232"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8232"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}