Poetry from Fevers of the Mind Issue 1 from Hillary Behsharam

Universe, Space, Astronautics
Motion is Illusion

Everywhere she turns
a multitude of lights
pulsate in place
humming to themselves
careful to record
every last breath, either
in ones and zeroes or
across the shining surface
of captive eyes.

She is kin
to the exploding star,
with no motion
to show for a lived moment,
her victories will
make an appearance only
when they can get lost
in the crowd.

How can she
test the strength of
the cliff's edge

with no ground in sight?
If down is the only direction
her body can understand
how else
will she fly?

It Suddenly Looks So Easy

Its my secret debut
known to the sleeping trees
the moon
and me.
I fly each night,
a hitchhiker
on a handy wind
telling my city
of my new names.
& I have a way, &
I say
& of wearing the face
I need, &
I will peel
each nights sparkling costume
away, showing my
new pale pink skin
only to the gentle first light
of the summer's mornings,
& I remember you & I'll say,
For so many years
I lived as though
the world was
nothing but a dream
and his shadow was
all I needed of reality,
and he likes it that way,
He laughed as
I saved my feathers
and told his jokes
of melting wings,
He laughs as
I greet the dawn
and warm my skin with
the fires of
the days to come.
Will he laugh as
I'm flying through the night?
on wings I made
while waiting quietly at his feet?

The Reflecting Mind

You will know it
by the black smoke
and the fire I
keep burning
day and night.
Creation comes -
in a tempestuous wave
an explosion of words
a book of images from
a tale yet to be told.
It is the business of every  moment
to learn
which fuel burns hottest,
with the brightest flames for
highlighting phantoms
in the stardust.

Broken Record - A Study in Obsession

Her walls are papered with skulls,
considered from every angle, every distance.
Some are detailed studies of only a part,
others are Hubble deep field skull galaxies.
She put them up, she makes herself really see them whenever her eyes rest of them; they are
never allowed to blend into the background,
so she can be reminded of how thoroughly she has
already considered the matter of the skull,
and yet,
as though they were their own autonomous beings,
her hands produce for her another skull.
Long, slow inhale
Hold.
HOLD.
Long, slow release.
Onto the wall it goes.


Bio from 2019:
Hillary says:  " I am a poet from Chicago, and I am perpetually revising myself. I am in love with the stars and hope to have the chance to visit them someday. I have been writing poetry since high school, but until now I've focused more on developing myself, my influences, and my store of words than on publishing. I am continually working to develop a community of fellow lovers of writing and poetry on my twitter and Patreon.  www.patreon.com/behsharam