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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 22, 2009
to my former self - sinister is beautiful by ~Aadea.
Featured by fllnthblnk
Literature Text
i.
in a dim and exhausted new york subway train - i
surrender my fingerprints over to dirty railings and
start over.
ii.
my body stretches like a mayan temple over his landscape.
my sun drags itself across his skies to his brutal moon
prowling the outskirts of our madness. he says
bend yourself to these sights, love.
recognize, but never accept.
i want your filthy and bruised hope
on my table. he was
saturating space, says - how much
do you love your world. eyes screaming
alive over and over again. you can do better
he says, but you want to do worse.
iii.
a giraffe crawls out of my dead skin and is silent,
but stares with fat-sky eyes. its tongue snakes
and wraps around my wrists, shakes me
in a language that says my pores
are clogged and taste like
Africa and Ireland:
magic and desperation.
iv.
welcome
he says.
in a dim and exhausted new york subway train - i
surrender my fingerprints over to dirty railings and
start over.
ii.
my body stretches like a mayan temple over his landscape.
my sun drags itself across his skies to his brutal moon
prowling the outskirts of our madness. he says
bend yourself to these sights, love.
recognize, but never accept.
i want your filthy and bruised hope
on my table. he was
saturating space, says - how much
do you love your world. eyes screaming
alive over and over again. you can do better
he says, but you want to do worse.
iii.
a giraffe crawls out of my dead skin and is silent,
but stares with fat-sky eyes. its tongue snakes
and wraps around my wrists, shakes me
in a language that says my pores
are clogged and taste like
Africa and Ireland:
magic and desperation.
iv.
welcome
he says.
Literature
My First and Last War Poem
When he came back from the war,
all he saw was shrapnel.
Not like the sort on the battlefield,
at home there were no bodies,
there was no thick sticky blood on his hand,
She stood at the beach,
brushed back a strand of hair
a jellyfish washed onto shore.
She knew only the dead were that clear
and it reminded her of the poisonings:
dead cats and dogs curled in balls along the sidewalk
after some jerk littered the doorsteps
steaks marinated in cyanide.
instead, he watched his family,
watched himself at the dinner
table as if he weren't even eating
swallowed the potatoes and wondered
"where is the metallic flavor;"
"where is th
Literature
On Disappointment
I.
Out on the porch, my mother sat in an Adirondack chair, smoking
her first cigarette in ten years. The air was hazy and discolored.
Her wedding ring spun on the table, gathering fallen ashes.
I was on the floor, knees tucked up under my chin, poking sticks
down the cracks. She spoke of lies and imagined bliss.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed.
I listened as my mother explained the complexity of love.
II.
Last night he drove just over the state border. I sat in the car,
feet up on the dashboard, singing with the radio. He looked at me
like he had a secret. He was the sage and I was the fool.
So there we were, lying
Literature
limit
words are the translations
of lifetimes.
and i speak the invisible architecture
of my body.
there are back-lit hills
in every direction;
dark crests that hold
the inevitability of the sea
on the other side.
recollections go out like
the vapid ribbons of breath,
occupy their origins
as fragments of myself.
i am everywhere
i'll ever be.
ever been.
the other side
is a perpetual expulsion;
is exclusive and perpetrating;
is the establishment of desire.
i follow the iron shove of the river
to the lake, green with cold.
ice rides the water
and the careful geometry of chance
like triangular wax sheets.
they overlap,
hold w
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full title: "to my former self - sinister is beautiful"
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So... when the giraffe crawled out if your skin, did it hurt? Oh wait! Dead skin, right. But then...