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Literature Text
Anima(l)
you feed raw meat to lions,
i feed raw me to liars-
the crowds line-in like
they’re ready to witness
me eat crow feet like i’m lyin’,
but these eyes are tired
of watching the vultures
masquerade as innocent crows
when the flock is called a murder.
and these crimes are unaccounted for
because we don’t realize what they’re killing
are the lion-hearted and eating the carcass,
leaving souls to float in the desert
while frames play bowls to a heartless dessert.
deserted bones tumbling like weeds
in the dead glass,
and lightning doesn’t strike
in the same place twice,
so don’t expect quartz here.
the law of living has no courts here
and karma is no judge
because there are no sentences
being placed on the objects
that subject you to the adjective of their
verbose verbiage.
their words unnecessary,
excessive when the circle has begun.
wing disks spinning, dizzying,
dazzling, dying down
through dirt tolls
because we all have to pay
for the time we give at every checkpoint.
points on the dotted line
signify where the check has been paid for
where your signature lies
on the desert floor
and they’re flying overhead.
shadow crows streaking through
the sun becoming the night
showing your heat signature died.
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Literature
They say the one who prays
They say the one who prays receives much more
than whom we pray for, shaping what we want
to what we get. We find a way to pour
the outcomes into candle molds we can't
have fashioned for ourselves. But then we light
the wax and sniff the scent and call us blessed
by blessings in disguise. For what is right
in contexts so complex we cannot test?
For those who say that praying contradicts
free will or undercuts the will to change
injustice, fine. You have no wax, no wicks,
no blessing and no curse, you are the sage.
I pray to sculpt the candle and the mold
and scent with pity earth and heaven's hold.
Literature
Ink Shadow
Drowning down with the shallow ones,
They have this... darkness... surrounding them;
It gnaws away at their own mind.
No, it drowns their psyche,
Pulling it beneath the silver lined waves;
Coating it in inken armor...
In a vain effort to protect themselves.
These creatures have no reflection;
Resemblant of demons and their ilk,
Unable to look within and battle their own demons,
Lurking inside...
The dark ink pools to form a mirror...
The demonic creature can never look into it,
They're too afraid of their own shadow;
And that is what they've become...
A shade; A simple hue...
A shadow that follows others around, seeking the light that
Literature
to the left is uncertainty, to the right is death
sir you can't sleep here
you can't sleep anywhere
the home you saw on TV was someone else's mountains,
you will have to carve your own.
yes, and lead them there.
yes, and point out the direction of sunrise
yes, and teach them to dismantle a fake.
and i know your stomach coils like an eel
from the thought of the work.
it is not fair,
cogs riling the rotgut empty
already, and now this underskin snake.
but last time we all fell asleep on different benches,
hugging our branches like cats on life's tree,
we woke up in hell;
there is no other way,
Suggested Collections
A fragment I had lying around before I finally finished it for SilverInkblot's new project "Distinction." You can also find this piece over at StyleOverSubstance. 
© 2014 - 2024 chromeantennae
Comments18
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Your word play is kind of my favorite thing.