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Literature
napoleon at seven
an old guitarist sitting
on a watercolor hill,
plucking on six strings absent.
two halves of breasts running near
under van gogh's starry night,
under black-white guernica.
everything in all jigsaws,
everything in trepid cubes.
a girl before a mirror
with violin and guitar,
sitting with three musicians
and a woman with her book,
stippling all realities
of intangible maternity.
hours yielding from dalí's clock,
minutes sub-the alchemist
like rain, like raining, like rained—
portraits wilt with abstract smiles.
clear sfumato, oh still life,
napoleon at seven.
:icontrumancoyote:trumancoyote
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Literature
The Vampire and His Servant I
                                        The Vampire and his Servant
                          ________________________________________
As I fall on the withered ground,
I stare up at the darkening sky,
Tears pouring from my pleading eyes.
I want to be free from this hell…
Light footsteps sound, stepping toward me.
I turn my head, slowly, the fear sending chills down my spine…
Making my heart cold.
He walks towards me, his graceful legs carrying him closer.
His long black hair whips against his pale face
As a sudden wind makes contact with his slender body
As he reaches me, he kneels down in front of my crumbled body.
I flinch visibly and turn my head a
:iconEllaryRose:EllaryRose
:iconellaryrose:EllaryRose 122 34
Literature
The storm
Cartilage-smooth azure extends
above bent heads.
Furrows   s t  r  e  t  c   h       b    e    y     o     
                                 the edge                               n
                                            o
      &
:icondrop-asd:drop-asd
:icondrop-asd:drop-asd 174 87
Literature
I Think I Might Sleep Today
The sea is rough stirred with tea spoons
Dishes swim in kitchen made dreams,
Crossing the land hooked onto a washing line.
The landscape is dirty linen, clothes and sheets
Being washed, ironed and folded out again and again,
A little rain never hurt no-one.
Words are flames in a cooker
Spread out like a jigsaw table cloth,
Staring into tealeaves and seeds
Creased and scattered into the breeze.
My only friends
Kitchen appliances speak to me,
As I escape dodging around empty seats
Curled around the tip of a fork.
Dishes swim in kitchen made dreams
Crossing the land hooked onto a washing line,
Words are flames.
Kitchen appliances speak to me
A little rain never hurt no-one,
This bleeding heart sneezed out of his nose
His better than anything I can prepare.
:iconDrowningByWords:DrowningByWords
:icondrowningbywords:DrowningByWords 26 66
Literature
losing everything i never had
it's an early morning as the sun is rising, stepping into my mother's room and moving towards her bed, careful not to disturb the dark shadows on the walls, or the lulling silence that's filling the steps between us, i ask her when she wearily opens her eyes, "why was i born?"
her face held no expression, and she didn't reply
she didn't reply
i might as well not have gotten out of bed today.
i might as well be -
_____
and sometimes as i'm sitting in the passenger seat, i lose track of where i'm headed. i lose track of the fact that i'm moving, i'm moving somewhere slowly across a map. i'm moving with the world, and i'm just one person out of so many. so fucking many. i watch the rode beneath the tires blur passed us. i watch the clouds drift along with us, the trees look like ghosts. i feel the time move along with us, as the sun falls to the floor and gives up letting the stars take it's place. the moon has painted my skin white, just as i sputter out my words and let them fade
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:iconsoftsilhouettes:softsilhouettes 71 123
Literature
Degrees Warped By Fragments
Degrees Do Worse Warped By Fragments
I.
I sit among a contingent of fresh-faced athletes doing mostly
Nothing,
Reading a book on the crosses of cosmogony when I feel a hand
Tapping
On my shoulder. I turn around like a toddler's wind-up toy and
Find
No face to match the arm suspended in space by something unseen
II.
Faces of clocks abound on every wall I sit across from, next to or
Near;
It makes no sense to me. Half an hour will pass before I have slept
Enough
Hours, and yet exhaustion always accompanies me, even during the
Brief
Rush of excitement I feel when the clocks cease ticking.
III.
Library books are beginning to pile up, most of them long overdue
Sitting
On shelves read less than twice, ones never even cracked open for a
Peek
At their lively entrails, innards I normally would be happy to gorge on.
Bestial
I sit in the dark and wait for hunger to take me somewhere new.
IV.
Game shows are on and I have to buy a vowel to finish the conversation
We
Are having at the dinner table.
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Literature
Synesthesia
God forbid they find out. I never understood how they couldn't hear them talking, their voices buzz like radios in my head, with static between outbursts.
Can't they, can't they?
Can't they hear Wednesday crying? How she aches with the weight of it all?
How Thursday laughs, callous, and Tuesday tries to sooth?
Tuesday's a sweet thing. Like boiled candy on my tongue.
Monday never listens and if he does it's only to lecture. He is black, unsweetened coffee in the sticky, early hours of the morning.
Sunday is so wrapped up in his own troubles to think about others. He never sleeps, so he never stops. He yawns like a baby bird for his mother.
Thursday blinks her orange eyes and tries to get Friday's attention, but all he wants is Tuesday. He's always wanted Tuesday. But he is so unattainable she doesn't even see him, eyes slide over like glass.
Saturday could solve it all, if she wasn't so damn lazy.
This could all be over. Tomorrow. I believe in tomorrow.
I ache on Wednesdays too.
:iconartisjustfrozenmusic:artisjustfrozenmusic
:iconartisjustfrozenmusic:artisjustfrozenmusic 35 86
Literature
Gore
You look at me like I am a monster...you're right.
I will slit your throat when you least expect it.
Since I'm such a nice guy, I'll let you choose where you want your kidneys to end.
Being a serial killer is quite possibly the best thing that has ever happened to me.
:iconInspectorLupus:InspectorLupus
:iconinspectorlupus:InspectorLupus 53 17
Literature
Painting of life
My painting weeps colors
sorrow and happiness
dark and light
It drips
off the canvas
onto my fingers
Red and orange
like the sunset color
of a warm beating heart
Delicate fingers painted
on the canvas wall
every detail matched
with every branch and line
Blue and black
sorrow and distress
dripping down
down
Colors of the rainbow
of the world
of the cosmos
Sapphires, diamonds
rubies and emeralds
fall out of my eyes
from the old and new colors
painted
Your eyes seep of wonder
and knowledge
I grasp your hands
and together
we become
the symbiotic painting of life
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:iconpagesofdreams:PagesOfDreams 18 25
Literature
the science of silence.
your arms form a barrier, blocking out all sound,
all thoughts,
there is nothing but you.
you.
you are the only thing that
can make a buzzing fan
sound like a butterfly;
a creaking house
like a lullaby.
moaning wind and soft footsteps,
    tickings of clocks, downstairs.
but you made it feel like a soft cocoon;
a weightless wall of something golden:
                                                       silence.
                             "silence is good in its absolution,"
             
:iconSubstituteSadist:SubstituteSadist
:iconsubstitutesadist:SubstituteSadist 312 221
Literature
My Winter
Cardinals will
                drip
from the branches like
berries
and the sky will turn to smoke.
The ground crunches under your feet and it’s
Almost as if you could
         sail away
across the ice.
Brandished behind screens of glass
are fists of ivory
They are covered in scratches and
         bloom
from the dark like magnolia blossoms.
:iconMjulinir:Mjulinir
:iconmjulinir:Mjulinir 128 37
Literature
satan threw me a slumber party
i’m tired
of you, and
i’m tired of
Miss Irony;
i’m tired of OCD,
i’m tired of poetry,
i’m tired of counting
and miscounting sheep,
i’m tired of losing my mind
to cosmetic con artists who make
more money than banks,
who make more sense
than a vending machine;
who make their mind up,
down,
not minding their dirty,
shady business.
oh, how i envy those poisoned Disney Princesses
i’m tired of blitzkrieg alarm clocks that snooze louder than me,
and
i’m tired of vinyl pinups (un)dressing up my hypnophobic lids
and
i’m tired of the poltergeist who keeps fucking up cushion clouds
and
i’m tired of my revolving eyelash nightmares opening too soon;
and i’m most certainly tired of the technicolor monsters
living six feet under my bed–
the ones that scream me caffeinated lullabies,
beneath bedlam bedbugs, to scare me awake,
so i can daydream of dormancy
the next morning.

the crows have risen,
and the roosters snore
until i wake u
:iconChloroformBoy:ChloroformBoy
:iconchloroformboy:ChloroformBoy 57 149
Literature
Tragedy's Muse
Blame me not, for I am a disillusioned soul that's lost their way,
midst many a broken promise and shattered dreams
I see, before me, an enveloping darkness that is threatening
my sanity, akin to tempests of somber misconception
Tears fill these clouds to bursting and droplets of their pain fall like
rivulets on unsuspecting passersby with no purpose in their stride
Surprise is etched on their faces as hands wipe the wetness
from their skin, in a hurried fashion, seemingly alike a scalding heat
Sensitivity being an emotion hidden behind forgotten trysts and the
never-ending confusion that to care is the ultimate betrayal
I smell the scent of fear emitting from anguished chameleons trapped
behind locked doors in relationships going no-where
Burnt offerings sealed in heart-shaped lockets tied around the necks
of wanton women and sadistic men with no place to hide
They walk the streets, looking down, their eyes never resting upon
anything of beauty, just the cracks in the mottled pavement
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Literature
Perspective 717
A thousand points of blazing light escape my grasp,
cutting the flesh as they flee.
As, cautiously I finally have time/space on my side to approach a beauty,
Intimidating to me, yet so familiar.
Falling sand, through the hour glass of change has finally brought me before you.
I weep now as she doubts her magnificence of being.
I tear my heart out to show her eyes ancient.
Her presence, that of the goddess fettered in flesh.
Overwhelms me with a sensuality arcane.
Undeniable, as it shatters all.
Breaking apart the sky,
now darkend,
forever.
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:iconneojones777:neojones777 13 40
Literature
g-rain evident-s
Your subtle curves
a river's spills
until we reach
beach and banded
sands of brine deltas
near as nothing else
  what dwells seaside
to real waves
     
so                   long
        i've eyed
   this place we
to-flow-gether
  me with a
riverboat's
  groom,
   aseashell's
  bride.
:iconkountrklchr:kountrklchr
:iconkountrklchr:kountrklchr 28 56
Literature
the anatomy of my wings
your wings are prettier than mine, but that’s just
all feathers.
and feathers molt- the worst word in the world but they fall off and swirl to the ground.
                 (i love the summer because we shouldn’t be anywhere near the schoolyard and
                  the children with their big rubber balls but we are anyway, picking dandelions
                  and pretending-
          oh god, the things we pretend.)
you liked fairytales and i liked the bite of the world after they dissolve.
and then the soft swirls of pastels and pretty paints when you see the stuff they dissolve into is six times as beautiful.
         &
:iconorange-sheep:orange-sheep
:iconorange-sheep:orange-sheep 10 17
Literature
serenade
hand grenade serenade--
                   she smiles palm
to palm. and with
one flick
of her
         twisted wrist----
                                             a storm emerges
                               from the calm.
                               as the clouds descended I
     
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:iconbreakthatfall:breakthatfall 11 13
Literature
The Japanese Fire Extinguisher
ODE 1
The Japanese fire extinguisher went on a world class cruise aboard a ship dubbed the Saltwater Taffy.  The Japanese fire extinguisher disembarked somewhere in the Bahamas, where it bought a cat which it named "ODE 1".  The Japanese fire extinguisher checked into a hotel in the Bahamas, and proceeded to hammer the cat's furry butt into an envelope.
COMMENTARY:  Me liketh! A cat; kitty; meow! Tickles hee hee!  The Bahamas be morsels of rock.
ODE 2
Pining to his mistress, the Japanese fire extinguisher danced the tango alone on the obsequious, cigarette-stained alleyway below her window.  In an act of desperation, the Japanese fire extinguisher discharged its liquid-metal nucleus from the wheezing depths of its engine.  The blob lay there on the asphalt, whistling for 2 minutes before it died.
COMMENTARY:  Homosexuality is a sin.  In popular culture, television, movies and
:iconpereubuisjesus:pereubuisjesus
:iconpereubuisjesus:pereubuisjesus 10 45
Literature
Life As Suspended In Linseed
              " I ' m  g o i n g  t o
          t e a c h  y o u  t o  
             p  a</i>  i  n  t  .
b u t  y o u ' r e  
g o i n g  t o  h a v e
  t o  T r u s t  m e . "
Uno:
    V e r d e
Viridian,
A Hue to Make or Break or
Take Your Place Among the Cunning and Sundering
What Wonderment in Veins Does Run
In Yours is Blood,
in Plants: The Sun,
And Quartz Through Rock a Trickling Path
Revealed from Stone in Acid-Bath
This Rain, with its Sternest,
Most Miniscule of Breaking Blows
Is Revealing Gems Treasured
Unburied to be Re-Discovered
Re-Covered by Coveters
But, why can't we...
Why can't we
:iconDeZia:DeZia
:icondezia:DeZia 14 3