Dina H.’s Reviews > The Colossus and Other Poems > Status Update
Dina H.
is on page 24 of 84
« …I dream that I am Oedipus.
What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
Fixed me in this parenthesis;
Horses fluent in the wind,
A place, a time gone out of mind. »
Book hit the wall after these lines.
— Sep 28, 2025 07:17AM
What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
Fixed me in this parenthesis;
Horses fluent in the wind,
A place, a time gone out of mind. »
Book hit the wall after these lines.
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Dina’s Previous Updates
Dina H.
is on page 49 of 84
«You defy other godhood.
I walk dry on your kingdom’s border
Exiled to no good.
Your shelled bed I remember.
Father, this thick air is murderous.
I would breathe water. »
Her brain makes me sick 😭
— Oct 04, 2025 05:09AM
I walk dry on your kingdom’s border
Exiled to no good.
Your shelled bed I remember.
Father, this thick air is murderous.
I would breathe water. »
Her brain makes me sick 😭
Dina H.
is on page 47 of 84
«Even our shadows are blue with cold.
We wanted to see the sun come up
And are met, instead, by this iceribbed ship,
Bearded and blown, an albatross of frost,
Relic of tough weather, every winch and stay
Encased in a glassy pellicle.
The sun will diminish it soon enough:
Each wave-tip glitters like a knife. »
🙂↔️
— Oct 04, 2025 05:05AM
We wanted to see the sun come up
And are met, instead, by this iceribbed ship,
Bearded and blown, an albatross of frost,
Relic of tough weather, every winch and stay
Encased in a glassy pellicle.
The sun will diminish it soon enough:
Each wave-tip glitters like a knife. »
🙂↔️
Dina H.
is on page 35 of 84
« In their old anarchy to the horizon-line.
It would take more than a lightning-stroke
« To create such a ruin.
Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind,
Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.
No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing. »
🫡
— Oct 01, 2025 12:37AM
It would take more than a lightning-stroke
« To create such a ruin.
Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind,
Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.
No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing. »
🫡
