An August Without Stars by Grace Black

Understand, I’ll slip
Till my thighs are steeped in
A single thought
For the lonesome

May I write words more naked than flesh
Between those black lines of print
Between Solstice and Equinox,
And now I live in a gallery of seduction

I am beating all my wings
To put off the well of darkness
We would enjoy each other, happiness and I, but
There is a space in this heart that will never be filled—

Source text: This Cento is built with with lines from: Rilke, Cummings, Keats, Sandburg, Sappho, Plath, Neurda, Jonny Ox, Sexton, Woolf, Mia Hollow, Bukowski, in order of appearance.

Grace Black is just another writer wearing down lead and running out of ink, one line at a time. Coffee refuels her when sleep has not been kind. Grace writes poetry and flash fiction and has been published in various journals online and in print. Her first collection of poetry Three Lines: All That’s Left is available on Amazon, at www.amazon.com/Three-Lines-All-Thats-Left/dp/1511560312/, and more of her writing can be found on her website: graceblackwrites.com