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Limited Success Settles DeepOur old letters taste holy now,
Taped to the wall, always falling
Off with the photographs of my father
That never stuck.
Tuning the landscape to your specifications
Conflicted with my bandit’s life, repitition
Of desertion overtakes the death of light,
Versions of stowaways dragging stories
In shoe boxes.
Disappeared travelers know my name,
That cold steam vanished, those socks lost
And, kneeling, bargained for with the settled
Necessities and the sheltered can be brokens
What I Know About ClosureHours of light follow you,
Strangers with unfinished business.
As a scientist, I try to tighten down
Your stubborn fingers, promise
That the pilot holes won’t hurt,
Because the sway of “anything for you”
Makes my tongue slowdance with the letters
Lost in the fire.
Heavy miles prove the dirt appreciates the blues,
Barking dogs chasing the way home out of view.
Stowaways were meant to go missing, mistakes
Need pioneers to threaten what might
Be lost - far away street lights
Barely looking at you.
The Humble Escort Turning GreyI am vanquished -
Kneeling on the shore of a lost idol,
Acres of car bones hide a natural remedy,
Algorithms destined to dance,
And I am vanquished.
I am dead gears clacking,
Fish mouths draining acres of shadow
Coiled on the hot stones of a fleeting nighttime vault,
And I am vanquished.
I am tired gutters cradling rain and troubled moss,
Acres of sagging fingers worshiping apparitions
Beneath their nails, cadaverous streets dropping down,
And I am vanquished.
A Temporary CarnageThere is a sibilance between wind chimes -
A path for serpents through sharp
Prairie grass and down the runnels
Of martyred remains. Cinder slag
Left by the lions in the field,
Their many mauled femurs yawning
With the pleasure of being bodiless.
I am intimate with the discarnate,
Those unreflective bits of rust
Which burst flavorful on the tongue,
Like broken plates and red blooded
Just a rogue coin clanging in the wash,
Soon to be removed.
A Wind Nudging the LeavesThe road that winds and spins round
To face me - the fire resolved.
Joys that never die, come forth.
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
Called to Say She'd Be Late Getting HomeI sit for a long time, listen
To the tin foil covered windows
Scraping together like dead wood
Collapsing onto the shore, exhausted
As the thief in an empty house.
What are you hoping to find in searching
These drawers without headstones and door
It’s going to freeze again tonight,
Graves rising out of bed, thousands
Of cigarette lovers are lying dead
In the grass, cold puffing smoke
At the stars.
I chop lots of wood for the stove,
Go to sleep.
HighlightsSome people can capture a sentence easily with a stroke of unnatural yellow or inhuman pink. They put the words in amber sap, make them ancient, and give them power over the next reader. They fill museums with them, sickly glowing behind planes of geometry paved perfectly into stained glass. The letters are given order and discipline when their light brings authority, and none of us doubt their integrity. I am not one of those people.
My lines are a blitzkrieg of inelegance, a disordered legion of primitives surrounding what crippled letters they can catch in their nets. A black confidence screaming through the sky, thinned by hunger, descending to peck apart each sentence, favoring especially to eat the words fattest with beauty. Some survivors race from their uneven trenches to brave the barbed wire. How could I ever gather gently what collects in my teeth?
Lonely TravelerI left the faucet on,
Dripping rivers of eyes
Full of moonlight, swaying
Down and dancing through the holes
In my boots, and I kept them there,
Because I knew I was going to run.
I found a candle wind
Coughing up blue embers shaped
Like blue birds, and the night
Was smiling burgundy red,
But that’s impossible.
Consider what kind of river
You would be; I am a cork
Without a bottle, the pumpkin
Eyes in my shoes collected
To feed a howling garden,
And I am not home.
You call meYou call me a freak
I say I'm unique
You call me crazy
I say sanity is overrated
You call me a sissy
I say I'm sensitive
And proud of it
You call me depressed
I say it's true
But I'm not ashamed of it
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
QuicksandYou trapped me
Dragged me below the surface
And held me there
You chained me
Put brass around my ankles
And left me struggling
You broke me
Beat me with whips made of hate
And hurt me more
You changed me
Made me who you wanted
And killed me inside
You hid me
Stole me away from the light
And made me blind
You crushed me
Blew my dust in the wind
And danced on my grave
surrounding my body
And now I'm twenty feet under
With no chance of being saved
Guide MeThe shadows of my past, like trembling fingers, strum the song of warfare with my heartstrings and piano-key-ribs.
The ghosts of empty faces, empty shells, waltz to the tune of my miseries.
The war raging inside my head, like the waves of an ocean crashing against the sides of skull, cause me to drown in insecurities so deep within my tired vessel.
I am tired of this warfare.
I am tired of playing the role of some valiant soldier.
I am dimming under the power of the shadows, of the ghosts, of the war inside me –
And my only beacon is you, dear mother.
When the fire rages on, and the music is gone, I will always look to you for guidance – and you will guide me to safety, always ending the war within me.
From Your 'Secret' AdmirerHeaven,
this is not a love letter
I will swear to God,
with a halo on my head
and a hole in my heart.
But the fact is I revere you
more than I have any right to.
After all, we are nothing except
who have awkward conversations.
So why is it that every time the line
falls silent I panic, worrying that your shadow
will make my efforts nothing but a distant memory,
when every word you speak strongly marks my mind?
Simple: I fear having something to lose
and losing the nothing I have. You are a
treasure to me, and this note becomes my confession.
Sincerely- I typed this, but I'm sure you'll recognize the handwriting.
give me a challenge, give me you.i have grown
the blood in my veins
have become more
than plasma, and i
am now trapped
within my own hollowed-out
this haze of
has to be transitory--
i can't let it be anything
Death, Judgment, RebirthLast Time in the ICU
Shadow rats, beady red eyes focused hungrily
Stay still too long and they’ll swarm
Sharp little teeth rending flesh
They know the sick and weak
They can wait
Tenth floor ICU, down with the disease again
He’s resting quietly, the nurse says
She looks like a huge black rat
Does she know what’s happening?
Closing the door
She walks away
Sweet childhood dreams are interrupted
Rats gnawing away at the edges
Toothy little kisses all over
Cleaning, cleansing scurry
Down to the bone
Sentenced to Live
Firelight, poker-faced patchwork man reading aloud
An old but vaguely familiar tome, his tone is somber
Was I one of the wicked? Weren’t we all?
Who can say that they were good?
Sentenced to live yet another life
I cry; I’ve had enough living
I want to sleep forever, leave my shell behind
To crumble to dust, useless, I won’t need it
Every door opens to the same world
Is this hell, then? The onl
are winter fire
that warms my body,
that stokes my heart.
is velvet gloss
through my hair,
under my shirt.
is silk screen
beneath my fingertips,
between my lips.
moves like ocean water,
washes over me,
floods every inch of me.
clinging to your cheeks,
puddling the pillow,
caught inside my kiss.
palm to palm with mine,
soft and breathy in my ear,
loud and gasping
against my mouth.
pressing against mine,
rising to meet me,
applauding in rhythm.
grasping at my shoulders,
sliding down my chest,
clinging to my skin.
squeezing me tightly.
arching up to me,
tilting back your chin,
pressing us so close.
undulating in excitement,
trembling in joy,
shivering with delight.
echoing inside my head,
calling out to the universe,
telling me everything.
tender and delicate,
Words from Another RoomWooden dinosaurs can be coaxed
To follow, if they know you, whispering,
A voice of drapes gently shuffling,
"Be good, son," and they do
Tell my hostile nerves,
Swayed by a red and wintered wind,
Perfumed by the smell of old
Shirts, "Be good, son." Would you?
I heard you, when your light yawned
And limped down the horizon, descending,
Like a dull shadow over your bleached face,
Heavy on your wet eyes, fading, whispering,
"Be good, son."
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More