Monica Beaujon - "Sulk", "Infinite" and "Onward"


dwelling on nightfall—

fingers fading in front of the clouds;
air lemon-tinted, humid and cleansing;
grass like pliable needles, their chlorophyll
infused with forevers.

elevated nothings escape my gaping mouth. i decide
i am the mediator of land and sky
and i, i, i know why you are the way you are,
evanescent wanderer.

cradled by weightless values, soothed by wide eyes
that seem to understand the is and is not.

everywhere echoes my home, births are false beginnings
and the air is more than invisible padding between you and me—
it is the connector
between your lungs and mine
though i require fire
in addition to soft easy breaths.




(i will never—


devastated jewel

cracked shimmer

sun cut open


heart busted

flesh torn

eyes bruised

lips peeled


placeless pain:


hammered body

aching body

mean body




quivering organs

limp tongue

choked throat

empty bones


—see your eyes again)




i know no sense, i know

only want for green grass and answers.


definite blue—

i am unrefined, i have only ripples

to offer, infinite but


small, these eyes cradling spheres of diluted sunlight.


blood once bled, now it curdles. i see time—

that of which is mine—and it is devoid

of space. the clock

mocks my wide eyes. (lips grow

suddenly heavy)

there is nothing i could want.


Monica Beaujon is a junior, majoring in English, at the University of Wisconsin. In addition to writing, she enjoys hoop dancing and spending time with her two cats. She is currently working on her second novel.