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Expectation Of An AvalancheOur emptiness, our spades and saws,
Old tools become debris,
The shattered bricks, a flayed applause
Shaking the snowy sea.
Tomorrow and the muted crawl,
The air's shock caught up, surging fall,
Beyond, until the motion stalls.
The bloodless gallop of the void
Between a dreamer's bones,
And at the foot lay there, destroyed,
Dissolving little ones -
So was it then, an elegy?
To soften their geometry,
So was it, then?
So was it then
When ice was all that I could see?
Alignment of translucent dunes,
Glass roofs but gravestones be;
Giving shelter to shedding moons
All polished perfectly.
An avalanche, as one would say,
No anchored noise thrown in the way,
To seize the feet with frozen clay.
Yet convalescence strips away
That jewel-box whose stems may slake
The eyes' long-thirsty lust of gray -
Our emptiness outwears and breaks.
No arabesque to dress the heart
Nor quickly sway its idle aches;
To whisk off vertigo, to part,
Our emptiness o
And Chains Will Not Release MeA certain pride and certain awe I see,
At times, your ardor all but has you gripped,
Yet not with love for your own child, or me,
But only for his newest manuscript.
Your verses are a gift from God himself,
Yet you dwell on those sentences amiss,
'Tis your novels that should be on the shelf,
But you treat each word as a crude, lewd kiss.
I'm writing this in hopes that you may know,
Finally understand what you ignore,
My veiled voice has long been pleading "Go..",
But 'tis I who must choose to stay no more.
Your words have chains and meaning thick as lead,
And chains will not release me once they're said.
Every Word I Say Has Chains 'Round Its AnklesI think of Hemingway everyday,
and murmur that it's going to be okay,
there's considerable difficulty
upon just being okay.
Just for one day.
Every word I say has chains 'round its ankles, running
for a porcelain knob too slick to turn,
and it seemed
that sentences inhabit darkness better
which is why they hide when exposed,
Oh how they pine.
I told myself calmly those words that had no sense,
and thrown away
so their leprous company
would not inhibit his craft.
Those he would never want to get back.
I'll desire in every way just to write like that.
Environed By Lights The traffic lights change too quickly around here, maybe because they know that nobody is coming. Heck, when we're not looking they probably turn purple and pink.
There's a certain poetry about them, like infinitessimally small stars we have the opportunity to watch die, and be reborn, we navigate about them and chart the best course, reading their instructions like fortune tellers. They are small Gods we honor with our approach, they govern the great consensus so that we may move fluidly together. I always thought randomness was true freedom, expectation a secret ruler, a calculable surrender.
I watched the walking envy the driver's speed, the drivers envy the walker's intimate view, neither truly happy to be doing what they were doing. The human condition: to compromise oneself, always finding something to want, something to give up in order to reach half-satisfaction. But that's the point I guess, to take something and leave something else leaves a man never overwhelmed, always i
A Flower Wouldn't Be So BoldAutumn leaves
Barely nothing, the wax of Summer wings
Long dried and scraped away.
And suddenly Winter cold — the mistletoe.
The new solstice, death and rebirth;
The air opens,
Upon the hearth a bough was hung,
And snow caught the tip of
Buildings clothed from head to toe,
And cars, too, as they inched a touch
It moves past you
In a flash.
Leaving only spiny-finger withered oak,
And one too many a stuffy nose.
We curse the cold,
Long for something old
To turn us away,
Reframe the mold.
A flower wouldn't be so bold.
A Conversation"What does unadorned beauty look like?"
An abrupt stillness came upon the snowstorm, as if the weather itself had posed the question. Not being able to see five feet in front of me, it didn't seem entirely unlikely. The bright and biting snow had left me disoriented, and I was sure I had been walking in entirely the wrong direction since breaking down on the highway a half-mile back. Just keep North, I told myself, because being lost is for people who take too many turns, like that even matters when each slow step is into the exact same nothingness. Supressing thoughts of the various scenarios of my death out in the cold I turned to where I thought the voice came from and shouted above the again-angry storm, "Hello? Is that you God? I can't talk now but if you've got any mechanic experience I could use your help!"
The blizzard snarled.
I nodded my head as if I understood.
There's nothing like being lost for the first time, it's as unique a feeling as being in lo
AgueAll vicious tinctures
Of changing textures
All that love's pleasures,
Flesh, in Death's measures,
By my own pressures,
The Metamorphosis AffairThe gardens rioted with weeds of glass,
Now and then a moisture deadened the glands;
I saw the world through gray water, no grass.
The floor-boards buckled, warped their weightless hands,
Thoughts held down by a sickness, viscous, slow;
I did not resist, scraped again by gray sands.
The muscles taut to plant new seeds to grow,
Just one night's sleep and suffering would rust;
I meddled in medicine long ago..
..but now cannot begin, unless from dust.
You're not sorryYou're not sorry
For what you did
You're not sorry
For what you did not
You're not sorry
For what you caused
You're only sorry
That you got caught
Il est temps de partir, infants de l’aube grise
Il est temps de savoir, ou d’aller à la brise
Nous fûmes sœurs de sang, d’âme et parfois de corps
Mais la nuit nous priva du repos dû aux morts.
Comme la feuille au vent, nos racines sont sèches
Fiancées aux tombeaux froids, mariées aux ravins rêches ;
Sous le soleil Corinthe, et Athènes et la Pnyx
Sous la lune le Nord, et l’horizon d’onyx.
Marchez, blêmes infants, découvrez sous la terre
La triple damnation accablant votre mère,
Prenez garde en entrant dans l’antre du passé
Son goût pour le sang froid jamais ne s’est lassé ;
TranscendenceI'd like to be the sun as well as the moon:
for me to be star-crossed and tragic.
I'd like to be remembered, and legends be true
And be regarded, above all, as magic.
Let mythology be damned, they'll worship me so
For they hardly even know.
Let mythology be damned,
Let mythology be damned,
Their song and dance will be quite a show.
I dream of the day I'm fire within the ice
Encapsulated in all my splendor.
But maybe just a marble statue will suffice
As long as they gaze and worship in wonder.
The shrines will come and the offerings will flow
And the cults will branch in droves.
The shrines will come
The shrines will come
And wide-eyed followers will come in tow.
It'll be easier to be a martyr
Because there is no hard work for me.
I'll just need to pose with my dog and armor
I'll receive a holiday, you'll see!
Like water in amber, I will be memorialized
And become the spark in your eyes.
Like water in amber
Like Water in amber
Becoming an idol is a clever disguise!
The InquisitorBy right of God
The Holy Spirits
And the Church
I shall shape the world
A world bound by unity
Where none is an enemy
A world expelled from evil
Where no demon roams the earth
My sword fighting the fire
That defies my belief
A scorched stake
The end of all my foes
By right of God
The Holy Spirits
And the Church
I have shaped the world
After the FallWhere teardrops have fallen
flames will also rise,
they are invisible angels
obvious in demon eyes.
Silver Slips and DancersIt’s there in the beaten mirror she holds
In broken hands she cries of a defeat
The night will take her before she grows old
And they will cry, “narcissist” in the street
There, she dances softly on the surface
And shows the swan what it means to pirouette
But she cannot break exteriors face
found so ashen from the year’s cigarette
They will write books about that wayward girl
Speak of once easy laugh and softest eyes
That such light could be consumed by this world
should show that both bones and beauty will die
Pressed fingers to lips form a last cachet
In silver, shard veils, sashaying away
No HeroWe pledge ourselves to saintliness.
We turn our eyes away.
Forget that people suffer.
Not here, and not today.
Turn our faces upwards
And sing into the sky:
Hell must find a hero
When all the angels cry.
Throat has been sore,
My head a tad achy,
My joints are all cold,
My legs a bit shaky,
But it's all fine,
In the wintertime.
My back is all bruised,
My neck has been stiffened,
My skin has turned blue,
My clothes are all soaking,
But it's alright,
It's snowing tonight.
Jack Frost has come
And opened my windows,
So when sleep came undone,
My room was snowy and white.
I started a snowball fight.
Sledding down hills much too steep
And not expecting icy sleet,
I tipped over and I fell
And I found that I did not want to yell.
I only laughed,
As all the ice cracked.
Now it's getting too late,
The parks are all closing,
People nursing their sores,
As it begins snowing
Our tracks will be no more...
Let's all drink to winter days,
Where even grown ups have to play,
And let's all toast to Jack Frost here,
Without him there'd be more tears.
Ah, in the snow outside...
Where has my car decided to hide...?
Just becauseJust because you have a compass
Does not mean you will find your way
Just because you have a mentor
Does not mean you will pass the test
Just because you have a farmer
Does not mean you will grow straight
Just because you fought the battle
Does not make you a war hero
Just because you won the war
Does not mean you won the heart
Just because you wrote the poem
Does not make you its poet
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
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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