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Literature Text
st(r)ay mountain,
don't crouch under
those stairs of cloud.
the pillars are losing
their mettle, mineral
meticulously disbanding
in the circular cycle
of existing.
st(r)ay mountain,
don't crouch under
those stairs of cloud.
the fillers are moving
their metals, azoic reminders
of mothers dismembering
the thoughts of their children
back to birth.
st(r)ay mountain,
don't crouch under
those stairs of cloud.
the villagers are grooving
their meddle, mining
unwieldy, unwisely
uniting with the channel
of meaty canals.
don't crouch under
those stairs of cloud.
the pillars are losing
their mettle, mineral
meticulously disbanding
in the circular cycle
of existing.
st(r)ay mountain,
don't crouch under
those stairs of cloud.
the fillers are moving
their metals, azoic reminders
of mothers dismembering
the thoughts of their children
back to birth.
st(r)ay mountain,
don't crouch under
those stairs of cloud.
the villagers are grooving
their meddle, mining
unwieldy, unwisely
uniting with the channel
of meaty canals.
Literature
it was the last time.
I can see the colour of your eyes
refracted in the rain.
I can feel the warmth of your skin
against my tears,
the shaky bone of your jawline
and your tender hair.
I can feel the destruction
in that single moment
the cracks in my skin and the
light bursting out.
I can see the death in your face,
your heart on your lips.
The memory licks like flames
around me, holds my head
beneath the waves of salt and blood
until it's all I'm breathing.
Until it's all I want to breathe.
Literature
I should have written more poetry about you.
Lost in your embrace
into your chest she collapsed,
caved
against your collar-bones
weighed down by stones
in her pockets.
And her hair filled your eyes
tickled your neck
with her lips,
shuffled the deck
while she unbuckles your favourite trousers
the darkness swallowing
the discarded clothes
to the sound of swallows
congealing in the dawn.
And you, a frightened fawn
stark naked, captured by her eyes
ribs interlocked and fingers
heaving in the tide of bedsheets,
push and pull -
stand tall
for me, stand tall, for
me, my
peace of mind
tease out the knots
in our heartstrings.
She won't love another
she won't cut your words
from her walls;
Literature
saving face / saving grace.
The cataclysmic error of the sunset
tempts the universe out of its shell
to mock my humanity,
listen to the pebbles at my window,
the scatterings of
how beautiful it all is.
His heart --
my fear of --
stress-marks
stretch-marks
impact craters where I held hands in mine
the burn and scratch of the light of day,
yes I can feel my retinas deteriorate
but I am
saving face
saving grace
swiping right for my next tomorrow.
I swallowed yesterday
like mothers' ruin
shot shot shot
and if this is my last living memory,
I think I've forgotten how to be myself.
Suggested Collections
no poem in the description today. (or add-on or more poem or description as a poem thing-- however you all may take those snippets.) just feeling inspired and wanting to write a narrative, imagery-filled thing. hope you guys like.
mas·sif
maˈsēf/
noun
- a compact group of mountains, especially one that is separate from other groups.
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Comments4
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Ah, I love the imagery. If your goal was an imagery-filled piece then you nailed it. Also really enjoyed the connection I feel to this piece.