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Literature Text
Not that the ambulance men look like white vultures, but
I can see them stooping over the roadkill that
they peck at with needles and monitor leads,
not that it'll do any good because
I can see its eyes bleed every time
they pump what's left of its ribcage,
not from hope but procedure.
I wave through the black van;
they lift it on, shrug,
"Not much left there,
I'm afraid."
They cried
not.
I can see them stooping over the roadkill that
they peck at with needles and monitor leads,
not that it'll do any good because
I can see its eyes bleed every time
they pump what's left of its ribcage,
not from hope but procedure.
I wave through the black van;
they lift it on, shrug,
"Not much left there,
I'm afraid."
They cried
not.
Literature
of birds and rain
document 1.may 17th."if this is how it starts
how hard is the rest going to be?"may 18th passes. so does june 22nd.
in the time between and
after, I am left only with my birds
and the rainand it rains all the time.august 7th. I can no longer hear
the geiger-counter clicking of the gutters
over the echoes of crows and
car horns, though the mud that
devours my shoelaces each morning
tells me the storm still hits while
I'm asleep.november 24th and even the pigeons
have gone. buildings boarded up,
graffiti
all over my car.nothing shiny left for them
to shit on.january 6th now--
eight months and several
thousand
broken metaphors later,
the w...
Literature
30 september
A grey proposal
With a twist of lime
A Swedish car driving
In the pitch black night
A silent whisper gently
stroking your chin
A hand touching
shakes me from within
A sweaty leather seat
with red blood stains
A soft cry out
echoing through the rain.
Literature
Summery Demise
I lay splayed across my porch at dusk,
Tonight the sky refuses to open its mouth,
To cough out the stars my mind longs to count.Tonight when I asked you if you loved me,
You said you didnt know anymore.The winter breeze laughs in my face,
Picking up stray strands of my ash blond curls,
Brushing them against my cheek, tickling me.I smile in spite of myself, in spite of the tears,
I dont want to cry anymore but my eyes never listen.The hills beyond my house are hollow, spare the tress
That sit in their naked limbs, shivering against the dawn,
Skinny brown fingers, corpse like, reaching for the sky.I feel with them their nakedness, their s...
A lucky strike in the forum. An exercise with starting words of each line being 'They', 'Not', or 'I'.
Descending syllable count.
Descending syllable count.
© 2007 - 2026 AbCat
Comments68
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An incredible mating of structure and personal observation. Your gallery is so refreshing after the billions of badly rhyming attempts all over the site.