GRANDILOQUENCE

I dream of you in colors that don’t exist
yet my mindset keeps them raw in the daylight.
You bounce in unattainable blues,
roar in the strobes of fuschia,
bleed in a faded chartreuse
desperate to turn oxidized, a flavor
lingering sweet in the mouth.

Harlequin in your plumage, take flight
to unbounded regions and prance
as if you were born in the soil.
How can you dance so beautifully,
drink worlds through bendy straws
and laugh at my nightmare mythos,
light shining on those tiny devils
that rub raw between your legs?
Do you even mind the pain or flavor?
You do not show it in your vibrance.

There are no bounds within the spectrums
yet you find a way to lick every inch
marking it for your consumption.
Prance, bound, frolic, and curse
you limitless creature draped in rainbows.

One day, you will breathe the blues,
ground in the greens, and smile
at the neon marquees turning
your face purple in my tangible twilights.
You will wear me because you are me,
I created you, painted the blank subliminal
with colors unconceived in logical landscapes.
But I’ll grow into you. I’ll be a shadow
dressed in my gray and tied at your toes
calloused and bloodied in mauve hues
worn from your first attempts to fly.

RECLAIMING THE “USELESS” THINGS

I’m taking custody of our sunbeam
so I can swim in the warmth
with no mind to the obstacles of limbs
and parchment that may remain.
I’ll take the teeth and the identifying feats
that dug graves into our skin
but left only me with the promised scars.

I’m grabbing hold of the glittering scum
that once hid in our dark places to fashion
myself new clothes. I’ll shimmer sunsets
never seen by eyes or conceivable
in our former perceived ocean. I’ll nab
the earring backs and silver chains
to pawn them for my fantasies.

I’m claiming the sands and rock piles
we wished to walk. They are lined with hellish
scenes, torn apart like paperback exchanges
thrown into bellied flames. I’ll dance
in the moonlight’s blaze and curse your name
while proclaiming my victory
over the diamonds forming between my toes.

I’m seizing the assets pillaged from our escapades,
pretty with mauve and evergreens.
Our bunkum wishes attempted to murder
the thorns and stems vibrant in our wake,
but forgot the trinkets pressed in books.
I’ll demand blasphemy to keep the stacks
bathed in dried red and bright with annihilation.

I’m taking custody of our sunbeam
because it once was mine. I forgot
how magnificent it was, decorated in florals
and clad darlings you later asked me to execute.
But now, I’ll let the gardens reproduce
over our carnage. I’ll dance in the sun,
proud of the metamorphosis beneath my toes.

DAYS OF GRAY, SOLITUDE, AND MY CAT

In my days of damp loneliness,
where I crave your salty pessimisms
and the softness of your rye-soaked promises,
is where I dally under my feline’s weight
imaging him as my personal paralysis demon.
Shall I stir from my position once whispers
reignite the conception of what you’ve pledged?

No.

How dare your promises complicate my dreams
and keep my world dank and lonesome.
Your useless hem and haw, speaks
of sober spoils and days without disquieting,
maddening spirals twisting in my shadows.
And I let it fester while I am ungrounded,
adding to the loops likely to snag on my solitude.
Thus my devil purrs stable serenity,
often biting at the previous catches of my yarn
and I stroke his back, afraid your words
will find me and hook me back into madness.

I should crave a warm sunbeam instead,
then my demon and I could warm ourselves
in lazy stretches and wished-for feasts
aligned in an uncomplicated manner.
He and I will vertically plop and slumber
in the early spring’s blushing glow;
paw each other because he wants space
and I want to kiss him for keeping me company.
He will make me giggle with his harsh-tones hollers,
conversations we haven’t shared in a long while.

But no.

[ The Writer ]

Lyndsie Conklin (she/her) is a Montanan transplanted to Colorado, living with her husband and cat, Beans. She enjoys getting outside, being a cat mom, breakfast foods, Diet Coke, oversharing Type 1 Diabetic memes, and writing poetry and erotica. Lyndsie attempts to find romance, beauty, and darkness hidden within the little things while highlighting these tiny, gross darlings within complex, current topics, such as mental health and LGBTQ+ and women’s issues. Lyndsie holds a Bachelor of Arts in English from Western Colorado University and a Master of Education in Higher Education Administration from Post University. Some of her work has been featured in
Soupcan Magazine, Twenty Bellows, Pile Press, and Beyond the Vile Press.

[ The Process ]

All three poems selected for this Growth issue of Drip Lit are poems I wrote as I navigated my growth and healing processes. Before 2023, depression and self-depreciation had thrown me into some low places. Through it all, I clung to poetry. That and therapy helped me get to a better mental space. These featured poems represent a walk through this process, beginning with me laying in bed with my cat all day to reclaiming myself and my joy. I broke myself open to get out of the darkness and ruts of depression. As I bled my emotions, trauma, healing, and visions for the future me onto the page, I expanded my art form with it; taking formatting and content risks I couldn't have imagined (shout out to my peers in the Denver chapter of the Community Literature Initiative for encouraging this behavior). By the end of the summer of 2025, I hope to have a collection ready for publication exploring these themes further.