Indigo Hawkins

Rookie (April 30,1989 / Virginia)

Indigo Hawkins Poems

1. Girl With An Eggplant Tattoo 7/31/2008
2. Forgiveness 8/1/2008
3. Terror Born Of Abyss 8/8/2008
4. Reprisal 8/14/2008
5. Meditation On Violence 9/11/2008
6. October 10/8/2008
7. Sonnet 2 12/10/2008
8. A Serial Negligence Of The Sun 12/13/2008
9. Insomnia 12/16/2008
10. Recipe For Irritability 12/18/2008
11. Of My Ego 2/1/2009
12. Riding An Elephant 2/9/2009
13. Damages 2/11/2009
14. Soliloquy Of A Shallow Duck 2/11/2009
15. Momentum 2/13/2009
16. You Mustn'T Speak 2/18/2009
17. Wondering About Wonder 2/28/2009
18. Imperfect Idols 3/3/2009
19. Of A Forgotten Life 3/21/2009
20. Cavity 5/4/2009
21. Post Point 6/19/2009
22. Answers 6/21/2009
23. 140 Fragments 6/25/2009
24. Shut Up 6/30/2009
25. Skirmish 7/9/2009
26. Making Arrangments 7/11/2009
27. Take A Stab 7/26/2009
28. Pastor Ray: An Introduction 9/3/2009
29. Another Piece 9/12/2009
30. As Far As I Can Tell: 6/15/2010
31. Delux Crux Dilemma (Incomplete) 6/15/2010
32. Family Bonds 6/15/2010
33. Stultiloquy 6/15/2010
34. Double Helix 2/8/2008
35. To Be Blunt: 2/12/2008
36. Suicide Poets 2/14/2008
37. Half Of Whole 2/15/2008
38. Heap Of Random Images 4/28/2008
39. Preserves In An Alabaster Jar 4/28/2008
40. Is Am Not I 4/30/2008

Comments about Indigo Hawkins

There is no comment submitted by members..
Best Poem of Indigo Hawkins

Benediction

'Let the love of harlots be sanctified.' ~unknown woman

When you come to me, realize I behest
no edifice. Love me in a gutter
or not at all. I merely want to rest
my temple on your temple - to utter
“Hosanna” in the shared throat of a split
alley; to awake spread beneath heavens,
frank before your eyes of melted wax, lit
with a tart torridity which leavens
my body as if I were dough submerged
in a puddle of consecrated wine.
I will pour holiness as honey, splurged
on rose hips and sopping clothes: our benign
impurities to dulcify and bless -
I ...

Read the full of Benediction

I Will Be A Story

I.
the day began as a mirage.
dressed in the garb of a wise king,
i dab frankincense on my wrists
and stumble into the desert searching for stories in the sand.
i find no surrealism in the sun. illusion
cannot be blamed on transitory light. it is my eyes
which censor the spectrum of time.
with a dangerous emptiness, the wind

[Report Error]