Harrison Whittle
(USA)
Beginnings and Edges
On nights too quiet for sleep
I look up,
to consume beginnings and edges.
When streets are littered with dreams,
and sky shows the cleanest view of “far,”
I watch Venus on her blackened-blue runway
strut slow, through blinking
paparazzi from miles and miles away,
Like her,
I was born high
in space, surrounded
by jaws of light, pressed dark lips,
dusty fingers,
and the sound between
bodies.
I was born like her,
to continue
bloom, and twist in
the lethal spectrum
of passion.
Into the clearest view of far,
I look up from consumed beginnings to
edges sated high
in a fist of night. I am
born like her;
with tears, tears, and shifting shades of star
pressing in and out of me.
Creationism
From what substance am I?
Am I Human twin to Phantom Art?
Wrought together
from a single brush.
Or could I be mother?
And it’s through me that Art receives
its blessings, blush, and grace to be.
Or is it folks like me
who are the drug Phantoms need?
We’re host,
they creep, perceive,
conceive.
As artist, I only offer
seeds;
sparks without wings
I am a current merchant, who watches
great minds of generations;
still search for angry fixes,
still swallow the street,
still graze unblinking valleys and peaks,
still grasp for another,
still burn,
and are fantastically monstrous.
I am a pusher of dreams,
dealing fresh hands
to the dealt,
and keeping hearts
beat and burn together.
I only offer seeds, to
Breathe in colors
Soak in solitary colors
Believe in color,
Our colors.
Hg
Every day at the fish market
crowds push each other
around, like silver beads
gliding over the floor.
Every day someone comes up, breathing
questions of Mercury’s poison.
These beads believe
their separate silver knowledge,
and remain
unseeking of evolution.
Unseeking of bonds
they remain separate;
in privileged, silver content. Frozen.
And, without listening, without
hearing, without allowing response,
they miss the Monger’s Message.
A message
the wing-footed internet never delivered,
or maybe the crowds just dropped.
They ignore
the message of selenium.
The message of war.
The calling of an ancient battle
for power; made of heaven’s
balance.
Selenium; the match for Herculean Mercury.
When Mercury meets Selenium,
they chat,
they solve problems,
they bond,
and listen, to
make; the unstable calm, and inert, once more.
Then, maybe
people can enjoy more
fish with this knowledge,
and appreciate
the safety a bond can make
in the flesh.
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BIO
Harrison Whittle was born January, of 1990, in San Francisco, California, and grew up in the East Bay. He graduated from the San Francisco State University Creative Writing Program in the summer of 2015, and currently works at a local pizza restaurant. He first began writing poetry in High School at the encouragement of a teacher. He has been writing as a way to keep his thoughts organized ever since. In addition to writing, and to feed a rampant hunger for physical activity, Harrison does boxing, road biking, and circuit training. When he’s not writing, exercising, or working, he spends his time composing electronic music of multiple genres.