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About Literature / Professional Official Beta Tester BrendanMale/United States Groups :iconnew-latitudes: New-Latitudes
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Girl as Goddess
Diana, smiling at the moon -
you are more graceful than my hound,
that grecian nose of yours into everything
and your chin a peak to climb.
Put aside your lipstick and your novels,
the sandwich mother packed for you
and those leather sandals,
Our brothers are waiting
and the sun is on its way
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 42 7
Dressed like a civilian,
he only comes
to maim
(No one is watching
the house tonight)
Tin cans line the porch rail
as if they had all
the time in the world to flee,
just waiting for a shot
to fracture the silence.
The air is a blister.
It swells his feet and hands,
his heavy jowls
dragging down the walls.
The rocker waits for him,
guessing his mood
and the weight
of his heart
as he sprawls into the wood
and shifts his face.
A last glance at the door
and the windows staring
back at the yard.
He can feel the sleight of hand,
the slow turn of the screw
and knows the fire
has gone out.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 42 14
True West
I found you
at true west,
your hair tucked back
beneath your collar.
I had strong hands -
lean fingers
that splayed their mirth
across your collar bone.
I could almost wear you
inside out
like shearling,
a small animal
warm and curling
underneath the forest floor.
I am always late you said,
pulling out a cigarette
like you expected
an answer;
but all I could do
was stare out
at the sun
chewing my lip
and wondering
if you remembered
my name.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 56 21
He left her
to clean up his mess
again -
laundry that never saw
the light of day
and those strange stains
inside the kitchen sink-
coffee, or maybe last Tuesday's dinner.
The kitchen floor
looked hungry
and angry
in the morning light,
a thin sheen of sweat
bubbling up the floorboards
and the cat's bowl
wanted filling once again.
She dusted other women
off the bed frame
and guessed whose red hair
flamed against the mirror
and wondered why
they never hung
their dresses up.
She sorted out his socks
searching for the mates
and left the bedroom drapes
soaking in the sink.
Men are messy children -
no pride in hearth or home.
And mothers
are just avenging angels.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 54 34
I almost caught you waiting for a sign -
a token under his knapsack
a traffic light beating the sky
You mistook him for beauty
ethereal waste
and the worn out shock
of his questions
filling your head to the brim
and hiding in the corners
What do you see in him
empty houses
with gaping doors
and the harsh gag
of September sun
crouching down in the pipes
waiting to explode
He fought the good fight
you said
brazen as a lizard
and thrashing
fluid filling the space between you
like a leviathan
Where your insides
felt safe from the crowd
and night's shade
grew such long disturbing shadows
and I never knew
we existed.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 49 13
Still Waiting
Godot never came
did he?
Maybe he took the wrong train
or got waylaid at a bar -
enraptured by the perfume
kissing the throats of housewives
let out on holiday.
Perhaps the map was wrong
and that neat red line
you believed was gospel
really took him to Kathmandu
or one of those places
you swore you'd visit
when you grew up.
Maybe he got on a plane instead -
something with a number
headed to Detroit
and crashed over the Andes
where no one was saved
except the fuselage.
So you are still waiting,
waiting for his hand
to turn your other cheek,
waiting for a sign
that he still lives nearby
and just forgot
to be a comet
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 45 26
Careless Magic
I am not one for careless magic.
I like things
when they disappear
or hide themselves up the sleeves
of your coat.
I like the cards you put in piles,
the way the paper quivers
as I poke at them when you are not looking.
I like the tiny balls and marbles
the agate eyes of cats
and birds you juggle with
a nimble smile
as if asking me to count them
or try and steal them back.
I like the colors of the scarves that lead
to nowhere
the flagrant red silk squares and yellow
cloths - flags of summer
parading through the yard.
You pluck rabbits from my hat,
from the collar of my shirt -
and peel back the white pelts,
pink skin slick and trembling
with your sleight of hand
pressing against my lips.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 51 25
She did not know
how long it had been ten o'clock -
ever since last week
when the neighbors
refused to stand
on the porch
knocking on the door any longer.
They just want to come in
and look at things
her brother said
and to maybe steal
gram's silver locket
or those maps
dad kept at the bottom
of his dresser.
They want to stare
at gram in her coffin
and guess how much it cost
and who picked out her dress.
And then they will see
there is nothing in the kitchen
but canned beans and radishes.
So they will go home
and cook lamb stew
and soup with spelt and marrow.
They will notice
you have not washed your hair,
that the pits of your shirt
are stained
and your hem drags
below your knees;
that the dogs have left
and the water
has been shut off.
Then they will want
to pack us off to total strangers
who change the syllables
in our names to something new
and we will go to school
every day,
our socks pulled up and clean
and church every Sunday
where we wil sit
with hands folded
and tell them how
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 68 35
Devil's Bay - Virgin Gorda, BVIs by Poetrymann Devil's Bay - Virgin Gorda, BVIs :iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 45 8
So, I'm lost again in Bohemia
with my French cuffs
              still dragging
                   through the wine;
but they say my slippers
                        are quite elegant,
a statement in
            Italian leather
(or a letter from my lover)
and I smoke a gold tipped
   a duchess
            or a greedy centipede -
my hands all gesturing at
sucking conversation from the thieves and courtesans
in my bed.
I was once a painting -
something borrowed from Gainsborough
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 93 42
Window View by Poetrymann Window View :iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 30 9 Bar Scene by Poetrymann Bar Scene :iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 28 2 Sunset Sail by Poetrymann Sunset Sail :iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 84 25
They die too loudly here -
a barking, trumpeting sound
that keeps everyone else
Some say it is the salt
in the water
tickling through the IV
or the televisions or microwaves
talking in each room.
I can hear the hum of metal
each time the nurse
shifts her skirt
or leans over
to tie her shoes.
They come too close
to us,
afraid of camoflauge
of the smell of orange
and then pretend
they did not mean it.
Lunch is biscuits
and rice pudding or
green jello in a styrofoam cup
and a straw
puncturing a carton of milk.
At night we play cards -
spades or hearts
or dominoes with tiles
someone's uncle left behind
or forgot to put away.
And we will sleep
at some point,
some urgent need
to avoid pollution -
a small white pill
hidden under our tongues
for good luck
As we toss under
little fevers
and damp blankets,
pretending the corridors
will keep their distance.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 58 44
My tongue swells like a gallows
and sticks to the roof of
my mouth each time I say deliverance.
The doctor says it is only
temporary and that I will
get over it in time.
Some mornings I wake up as a
poet - a random man of bones
and meat, clattering down the
sidewalks, hardly breathing
and afraid to move too quickly.
Once I fried an egg on the battery
of my car because I wanted to
see the summer heat rise up
like angels and tangle in the
power lines, knowing I am God's annointed.
The nurse says it's ridiculous,
that I should know better
that morphine will not kill me
and I can still step on cracks
without the world slipping through
but I won't get caught like last time
because crucifixion is a bitch
and I have nothing left
inside my pockets
for you to taste.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 82 32
The lovely violence
of your words -
desperate feedback
where I sit on the train
wondering why this city
rolls its streets in
so early.
You were innocent -
except for that sigh
that swung between your hips;
and I swear I
never saw it coming -
blank verse and vowels
left trembling
and all your gods
come out to play.
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 76 13

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Sweetest SmokeI remember when
We collided
How you bruised me then
Beautiful flower
Indelibly indigo
Upon my white-throated youth
A plea snatched from my mouth
To feel the slow burn
Twisting into my skin
Branding the pillow of my thighs
In acrid smoke
Sweet and bitterhigh
Ash into the sky
Gasping and watery
Cigarette burns behind my eyes.
I like the word –
It draws out sweet and hushed
Of smoke within, without;
Rolling forth between tongue and tooth
Sip, un-sip
I daren’t draw that sound
From out the depths of your bitters –
That glow a damnation –
Lest they wink out sweet and high
Irretrievably into the nigh-tte.
Frenchly Fair and Bangkok TokyoGoing with my friend to Frenchly Fair  
in Bangkok Tokyo  
Play with the danger boys in beds at Casino Monte Carlo  
Investing in bonds and Aston Martins  
sport racing DBs  
trying real hard to outrun death and disease  
I think we're gonna make it!  
Are you excited!? I'm excited!!  
Scared really stiff!  
I can't wait for the cliffhanger and the credits  
but of course I'll have to  
Come with me and hold my hand  
Boy we're going to have a great time!  
Are you coming?  
Got your pistol loaded?  
which model, a Colt 1911 45 ACP?  
Yeah that's the one we need!
Am I too excitable?  
Yeah, but I like being high  
Come on while the star is shining bright  
Frenchly Fair and Bangkok Tokyo by Lancelot Price 2017  August 10 and hot, so hot
Morgena clear gray splash clings,
cleaves to the ribs
of the grass,
its fingers slipping down
along the sharp brawny husk
of the strong, plastic blade.
green elastic-band backs surrender to some other truth,
dip softly into a melting point. this morning dance, the minute ballet.
a periwinkle ribbon,
the satin mist tied into her hair.
she spins widdershins.
her polka-dot dress
the wind stirring the fields.
Don't tell me what I'm missing...       Fallen dying last words bled
       cheek bones for days is what she said
       your beauty cushioned in a pool of red
        softens the struggle with the life you led.
        Oh anxiety spike i match your dread
   your bounty, your choice alive or dead, it reads like a cut from a Killers line
          ...coming out of that cage feeling just fine ..
        strutting charmed fusing power
              drop dead looks
                  bloomed storms of flowers.
will never plant another
jalapeno pepper
for a man i love.
i don’t know if there’s magic
to it, or just bad luck
but as soon as roots
curl into fertile soil,
fingers start to uncurl
from my hair
like one space can only spare
so much heat--
and peppers will grow
when people won’t
and how can i feel lonely
when i know that?
it’s just the nature of things.
I want to rip that plant
out of the ground because
i feel like it’s laughing at me,
but one of us deserves to blossom.
i’m so mad at it for
being here still, when
he’s not. but
shouldn’t i be grateful?
thank you for staying,
even though I
am imperfect and you
are planted in the shade
instead of the sun, because
that was the best i could
offer you.
and shouldn’t I wish
that i could offer full sun,
and shouldn’t i be thankful
that he can find it without me,
because doesn’t he deserve it?
my light is steady
but small, and i
was easily eclipsed, and he
was so big, he
was a

7th Sea: Vodacce by Tanzenkat Eye Contact by myekeh Hawaiian Flower by creativemikey Wild by RawPoetry Rainier Sunset by RawPoetry
Japanese GardenFaded brass,
Stone floors cold and smooth,
Curling smoke.
Jagged path,
Stone lanterns glitter,
On the pond.
As you walk,
A shadow plays tricks,
Koi dart away.
Rough chipped wood,
A red railing curves
At the bridge.
Not long now,
Tea will be brewing,,
In your home.
Fragments.I loved him the way
I love the way
my dog's face bleaches
as we play fetch
year after year.
My breath comes
not in rises and falls
but in television static.
My thoughts are abyssal
and mostly messy memories
of his wrists.
I have regarded silence as a crutch
and a cathedral
but today it is a marinade.
You, who spoon fed me star fields
and held graveled ponds to my lips
and prompted me to drink.
What an honor
to have been the pen
you coiled your pipe cleaner mind around.
I spent Sunday
stumbling on tiptoe to gaze
into the black eyes of Susan.
Legacy of the sodiumLet´s flip the luck and land it on your hand,
esteemed doctor, let´s see if the internment all the
varying voices and scarecords
of mothers who fear a lifetime of
the hook and the chainball on the brain
has been considered worse and more
yoking than any
random conman
of the many fictions and fanzines
expecting the seasonal flock of
inassistants to schools and
nurses, vainly diplomed, all those decades of college and work...
emptied, useless, impotent, vain,superflos, vapid water,
but oh well, such is the legacy
-our legacy, oh cousin-:
when the blood spreads through anagrams
and you wreck your future
-and children-
thanks to it
my brain dillutes,
my walllet dillutes
and a conman laughs
as your aunt
keeps on calling him
"a holy man sent by God and aliens
to heal"
flourishing firesthe heavy heat seares itself into the hellish landscape
the hollow charred skeletons of the forest threateningly loom over the ashy floor
falling white flakes softly drift filtering through the blackened branches  
smoke slithers amongst the soot and glowing embers spiraling skywards
the scorched land exhales painfully smoke saturated breaths
contaminating the summer air like a second hand smoke drenched bar
black cancerous patches proliferate and metastasize
fires consumes over a million acres of land in a single country
children are filled with fear at the sight of a kermes colored sun
I’m also filled with fear as I view the night sky’s apocalyptic atmosphere
aphrasia overhelms my ability to speak
as images of the striking crimson moon flood my eyes
a red haze swirls and licks at it’s edges
“the moon has turned to blood” in my lifetime
just as prophesized in Purvis’ song played by Armstrong
I read the moon like a crystal ball
the future seems

El Brindis by vampirekingdom Regina degli Dei d'Argento by L-E-N-T-E-S-C-U-R-A Stairway to Heaven by mj-magic PersimmonDown go the bells
As we strike out for home
The sun is not our friend; it's a red vagrant
Revolving through the solar system
This is the room-behind-doors version of Sol,
who rose with the seraphim's chorus at the first dawn;
yet having grown sullen in the passing eons, he haunts the fog banks of northern Scotland
We dip behind the monstrous boulders, their bulk is akin to railroad cars or houses
The tide is stage-whispering, well-along on a fortnight bender
He frequents the catacombs of Paris, gazing at the skeletons in repose,
Having long since passed out of living memory
But now he has returned, the master at the door, drunk on spirits and lasciviousness
We pause, listening to the sigh which shall soon escalate to a pained roar, the master blind drunk, smashing against the headland, battering the sentinel rocks...
Those great timekeepers which stand in the shallows, in appearance like a group of black-robed justices, pondering celestial trajectories and playing chess with the sand c
breath of the winter fewcolder still,
the welcome crisp
takes matters of state
and solidifies,
breaks down and synthesizes
one wake
then another,
no incentive
for stasis.
colder still,
it builds in the veins
and brilliantly frames
in refrain beloved.
everything touched
shines brighter.
one hymn
then another,
in wonder,
colder, but still

Rendezvous RondeauHundreds of faces sink inside my head,
Naught but sediment on a riverbed;
But among the washed-up sand, a shrub grows  
Caught between used wilderness and fallows.
Meet me where the shrub’s final seed has spread,
And under the foliage, we shall wed
Inside this dreamscape to which we have fled.
We will not awake when the rooster crows
For the “real world” has sunk inside my head.
From the fallows arose a grand farmstead
Where we store our memories in a shed
So if my brain should forget what it knows,
I shall always have what I now enclose –
Though I lose many to the shore ahead,
Your face will never sink inside my head.
gas stationyou walked me down an aisle of the grocery store on 58th and 9th at noon on a tuesday
we had to do two full laps of the the entire store because i kept forgetting what i was
going to be forgetting to eat
you held on to the front end of my cart and you led the way making sure it was my hands
that cradled around packaged raw chicken and loaves of whole wheat bread
i managed to not break down, not to cry in front of the children drooling in front of the
lucky charms
you managed to soothe me by looking at me, your blue eyes allowing me to not think
about all the food around me, about the sorry excuse for a breakfast that i had, about
having to remind myself that a grocery store is a gas station and i can’t run without fuel
instead i could think of you and your hands clinging to my unshapely body and your
ability to eat without gaining a pound
but most importantly how i was still here with you and that i had someone to help me carry
my grocery bags all the way home
Kept to the Sunken ShipMany times as
the un-tread
much in a way
the Sun a
mirror's glass
will never feel,
ghost from the
potholes with a
trembling idiom of
deluding the
that travel upon
the path,
may not
perfectly command,
there they
laughed &
they feasted,
kept to the
sunken ship.
who can't die  the phased out stormchildren
for nothing    with rabid conviction
met at the terminus of
    the one true path
 that wends through ceremonial horror
    to futurity
    even still
    in empty
  unstable zones of influence
of things dumb and gigantic
--to be beyond their reach
   is to not speak of--
being mechanically harvested
of the warmth from our bones
   the images of itself
the dilatory collapsing moment
   when we were absolute
         (to be blonde
          or a radical)
with stones    and knives     and teeth
   to become non-linear
    recombinant versions
complete and without selves

Long Ago Dream_04 by caddman Begonia orange by hyneige D A R K  W I T C H by MirellaSantana Waiting For Ressurection (2017) by Kiriya Vaiettu Rakkaus by Yuukon
Silver and SaltThere had been no word for it when she had been a child but she had known it regardless. Born to a goddess and an once mortal Greek hunter. Her adoptive father had estimated that she had been conceived nine months past at the time when the veil between the world of the gods and the mundane realm was thinner.
Until she had met Alexander of Athens she had thought herself mortal, a princess of Ilios. But the black blood and her own shapeshifting ability proved otherwise. She loved him- had loved until his loss centuries later at the hand of the inquisition. It seemed to be her curse, to lose her loved ones. Alexander, her daughter of him. Even the child born of her uncle’s ill use after his coup had been born cold and still.
Midnight ticked over into the next day and she looked down, thankful it wasn’t the full moon. Samhain was enough for her liking. Like her mother, the daughter would be born on that night. Born to a man bound to the Wild Hunt. What the child would be given
when i was with you and embraced,
i was fondling those cheeks
silken yet strong like spiderwebs
with sharp fingertips,
and for the last time
allowed aura to lost itself
in the two little seas of irises
i used to daily bathe in,
you closed lids,
i opened my own,
thanking heaven
that it is not easy to have dreams anymore. 
GolemYou don't know me
Nobody does.
kind of.
Planting pot golem
smile carved a confident curve-
a masterful flick of the wrist
Eye contact carefully doled and rationed-
Sorted with worn hands into neat plentiful piles
Words: recipe made
Finely adjusting diced pinch of pace
Granular sprinkle of tone
Sommelier vernacular broth base
A plan-
on the dusty floor, unfurling.
forming with outside water
cradled in mine gently cupped palms
with practiced ease
small gusts of life over my prone individualism
stoke the flames with wide palm leaf, lazy green over sensuous smoke
A shape becomes itself.
I pass the creature into your passive hand
A perfect fit
Place a chunk of me to your mouth
As I slip on the tongue
a tailored taste
You: cocksure mind, hands clenching.
Dry surface crust cracks
thick earthly clay escaping through seams
A perfect displacement
A destruction, a mess of me
Like a coating film
your skin collects, drying molding into fingerprints
a plush meeting, jaw int
BelongingWe belong to the night
With stars hidden
Underneath our feet
Follow the fireflies home
Leave our flower crowns behind
While we hum on the drum
Of our heartbeats
Rewriting LeviticusI’m obsessed with the trade of
beautiful people and especially wives or slaves
or prostitutes who were at times the most
educated, independent, but those were just
exceptions, weren’t they, unlike the men who
wore their perfumed skins like softest leather
and then smothered them under their
mass delusions of hysteric femurs screaming
about a revolution to come and rip
their penises straight from their bodies,
and I think; whales have a language
we don’t understand, there’s never been
a system of government that doesn’t become
Feudalism in practice. I prayed to a god 3 times a day
just because someone told me to and once
I dreamt I was in an endless shopping complex
wandering through the twisting food court
lit by hexagonal fluorescent bulbs hanging
from twisted wreaths of lavender ivy with nothing
but a backpack full of water dripping behind me
which people slipped and died in--
--Decided on mediterranean and entered a store
much bigger within and sat at t

(Commission) Zophiel by fhelalr Fairy Tale by pompafunebris .: Land's End :. by retro2k Elo Sparrow Chest by elodie50a Carminia by Vampyre333
opinethe nomenclature of
number ways
to partake in
this party
relies heavily on
fingertips and wit—
but beaten down
to sodden specifics,
we forget what
it is.
Talk Without EggshellsI just wanna talk without eggshells -
Peel back the layers
Let em fall to the floor
And not have to think of what came before
No fucking clean up
No bated breath
Just an open exchange
Where I don't have to guess.
Eggshells are cutting
They crunch underfoot
And I start forgetting
How clean swept floors felt
Why things started easy
How words fonted clear
And I wasn't screaming
To just make you hear
I'm getting tired of doing this dance
Of crunching on eggshells
Each bite of romance
Can we make this easy?
Drop the blame and the past?
Crack the shells that we're wearing
So this thing will last?
Can we make this easy?
Just let our love grow
Stop all the egging
And just let it go?
BelieverI do not need you
to pray for me.
I am a common woman,
by your kind:
those who point to me,
wanting to anoint me
with all things pure,
of my worth
until I feign their ways.
I am no follower
of fire and brimstone;
as your kind says of me:
I am too far gone.
Last Stand by Shin500
Luna ParkLuna Park  
A wonderland of fairy lights  
Every night a Christmas  
The moon above  
has little chance to cast a shadow  
and down below we boys play gay for real  
waiting for the waterslide  
then down we go  
to watery paradise  
and up we come  
to ride and slide just one more time  
on all the rides in Luna Park  
whirling in a dance of steel  
reeling in the fun house  
on rolling drums and falling down stairs  
with steps that disappear  
as ghosts on the train  
that leaves in just one more moment  
and so must we  
Luna Park by Lancelot Price 2017 August 27 an hour past midnight in the morning
At Dragons Ridge by Softyrider62 Sad Night by maiarcita your dog-teeth are showingI bet you're lying awake tonight in your stolen canopy bed.
I bet you're trying to catch a glimpse of the pale-face moon
from the Spring Pavilion terrace, after wandering the halls
in either your bare feet or moss-green and gold-trimmed slippers.
Oh I bet you can't sleep a wink, just like me..
At least, I hope not, dear cousin.
I hope your guilt is eating you up, from the inside.
I hope it feels like fish-hooks,
clinging mercilessly to your glazed-apple flesh.
Oh I can't stomach the image of you, staring up at a ceiling of
crane-white stars or water-color paintings, looking so serene;
feeling as though you truly deserve this kind of end-of-an-era peace.
So, yes; I turn myself into a weapon
as I sit here, beneath this mulberry tree.
After the initial shock had settled,
the mind-boggling fear I felt as I ran away
from my once warm and inviting birthplace; passing slowly,
I'd been filling up on hate and regret for days
because they are the only edible things that
my stomach has been able

the empty.there is something enchanting
  about empty buildings
it's like a separate dimension
        ((a secret))
i am a deep sea diver at the bottom of the ocean
  in a place of quiet and wonder
    s u s p e n d e d 
like a bird about to take flight
but footsteps echo bricks into glass houses
     and suddenly the magic is gone
i am once again a girl 
  in a world too big for me
to understand
Druidess Ritual by pompafunebris Hell by EvolPS Darkness.Night settles
like a sweater
over the city
its electrical spool
laces the dark
with yellow
and laminates
sparkling brown
Darkness is the
final navigator
the last one
in the room
after lights dim
and flicker out
Mary contrary
Merry, merry go round and round
The merry go round
Rosemary hills and strawberry fields of eiderdown
Castles in the night, giants in the sky
The thirteenth hour
Encounter clockwise
Owl inside the hourglass
Counter clockwise
Quartets a quarter past the hour
The clock struck twelve,
Out came the cuckoo bird with an eye glass
Coil sprung, gears and cogs, wind up toys,
pendulum wheels and spinning tops
Out jumped Larry in a secondhand jack in the box
A jokers hand a wild card on a hat trick
Wiser the fool who wares the jesters hat

Glasgow cathedral by newcastlemale singular absolutetime, a neverending strand -
a moment is, then it's not
replaced, replaced again
seen as continuance
each of us with experience
personal impressions
happenings, colors, sounds -
emotion grown to tangibility
the now, then the then, remembered -
all subjective, false construction
the sole absolute truth:
there is no absolute truth
llp - dA - aug2017
How Little Agony Stings - Trigger Warningand when we're able to, we'll joke
that there are no local hospitals left
none without this anchor of ghostweight
tied to both its memory and ours
at 27 weeks, my hands find familiar places
one in yours
and one tense on the bedside rail
gripped like the balcony handrail
as its building collapses
and i let go, halfway down
in case we're dead enough already
to just sink softly into the ground
at 27 weeks,
we weren't supposed to be here
discussing her in third person, speculating
how life can only be helped along so much
until it has to find its own foothold
but we're back
on the dark side of the clock
and its bloodmoon tide
where birds become mere amassments of charge,
hope and heartbeat
breath to be taken elsewhere
and then just unbecome
and as we slip below the surface
of disbelief
it's here, just shy of bottom
that i realize
how little agony stings
in the numb of true defeat
how its venom overtakes with doubt
in a sedate haze of normalcy,
how it breaks your right to any expectation
Premade background - HalloweenTime6-2017 by Euselia Proposal by Black-B-o-x


Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Cape Hatteras and New York
Favourite genre of music: All of it
Favourite style of art: All of it
Favourite cartoon character: Bill the Cat, Oor Wullie, Snoopy
Personal Quote: They're taking them out in little green bottles again, and they all look like you.


Wed Jul 26, 2017, 7:50 PM
Fri Jun 23, 2017, 3:49 AM
thank you for the favorite <3
Thu Jun 15, 2017, 8:33 AM
Thanks for :+fav:! :dance:
Fri Jun 10, 2016, 3:09 AM
hey, thank you so much for faving! :)
Tue Apr 12, 2016, 12:11 PM
Thank you very much for watching me. :)
Wed Mar 23, 2016, 9:03 PM
I have missed your work. Beautiful!
Sat Jan 16, 2016, 6:50 PM
Thanks for the favorite!! :sun:
Tue Dec 8, 2015, 6:57 AM
Thanks for the favorite, Brendan! :heart:
Mon Sep 28, 2015, 6:55 AM
Honored to be added to your watch my friend. Good times.
Mon Aug 24, 2015, 9:11 PM


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Ferelwing Featured By Owner Aug 19, 2018  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you for the :iconfavplz:
iMayOccur Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2018  New Deviant Hobbyist Photographer… Join the photographer 2 model group! Looking for members!
Vampyre333 Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Just passing by to wish you happy holidays love and I hope you're in good health and things are going well for you :D
sevvysgirl Featured By Owner Dec 12, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
I'm SO glad I found your work ... your gallery of art and poems is truly gorgeous! :heart: 
MadPrinceFeanor Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2017  Professional Writer
Sweetlylou Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you very much for the :+fav: on  Casimodo and Esmeralda by Sweetlylou   :iconminimo-gladplz::iconbugplz:
pamlaisly232 Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
happy b-dayHave your cake and eat it too 
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