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Literature Text
bleached black and obsidian shine
her fingers fill your veins with
cyanide as she tries to hold
on for the last moments of
the li(f)e she's choking on
curdling hope in the bubbling
throat of hypocrisy and fear
it is a formula for chemical
asphyxiation and dying
iris like a flower
stuck in the night
like an eye that never
saw the light of day
such singular bones
no others live up to their splendor
and none have yet seen the drum that
pumps them full of arsenic, a
beating splash of cochineal that
lies somewhere around the
48th parallel and 2 degrees east
and sleeps during the winter solstice
only to wake up to a son-less luna
and feels the tears of her moribund crux
in the form of soft daggers
pressing themselves into the skin
of life turned neolithic,
a statue of an age archaic
and she's tongued promises
down spines, inverted
watching as they sputter back up
spewing decay and rot into her poison veins
feeding them is no delicate business it is
starvation and avarice and nightshade
and she is fast blooming
sulfur loosing from her acid scars
oleander blossoms from
crackling vessels of her wrists
and his taste buds
are the credulous recipient
to toxins taking tolls
of the prices
he refuses to check.
and now, all that is left
is nerium on his breath.
her fingers fill your veins with
cyanide as she tries to hold
on for the last moments of
the li(f)e she's choking on
curdling hope in the bubbling
throat of hypocrisy and fear
it is a formula for chemical
asphyxiation and dying
iris like a flower
stuck in the night
like an eye that never
saw the light of day
such singular bones
no others live up to their splendor
and none have yet seen the drum that
pumps them full of arsenic, a
beating splash of cochineal that
lies somewhere around the
48th parallel and 2 degrees east
and sleeps during the winter solstice
only to wake up to a son-less luna
and feels the tears of her moribund crux
in the form of soft daggers
pressing themselves into the skin
of life turned neolithic,
a statue of an age archaic
and she's tongued promises
down spines, inverted
watching as they sputter back up
spewing decay and rot into her poison veins
feeding them is no delicate business it is
starvation and avarice and nightshade
and she is fast blooming
sulfur loosing from her acid scars
oleander blossoms from
crackling vessels of her wrists
and his taste buds
are the credulous recipient
to toxins taking tolls
of the prices
he refuses to check.
and now, all that is left
is nerium on his breath.
Literature
ways we constellate
a. dictitious
i
am well-woven.
i
am a spell
that does not release
and never tells.
these constructions
i allow,
and better
awaken
to speak in hearttones
and hymnbeats
on rugged pavements.
i
have built
art.
b.bahaar
this body has
forgotten its infinite
beatings, denied
itself the luxury
of acceptance.
this body has
remembered its lovers'
last names, phone numbers,
birthmarks and kindness--
the only cruelty this vessel knows
is from its middles;
i
have riddled
myself into
warmth
c. capabuilt
these hands
are imbued
with patient dynamism
and ichor
that the goddesses
savor.
they have moved
mountain ranges
and hoisted dark seas
overhe
Literature
too relieved to grieve
because irony made you her whore;
being bad isn't having intent,
it's all natural talent
(even after i begged
nonononopleaseno)
preacher's sons aren't immune to
the summons from fathoms below,
harbinger
Literature
Farewell
i.
i'm surprised at how easily i can break you
and leave you in the wreckage of midnight
constellations and dead stars
ii.
and your shadow crosses mine
i admire your daring, although i told you
to leave me before you burn up
we've yet to lose sight, but the distance is
enough
iii.
don't forget, i'm close behind
and i'll never let you go even if the
world detonates into a stew of
disembodied dreams and starlit memories
iv.
forgive me;
i'm still learning how to love
something forbidden
take care, i'll miss you
Suggested Collections
Have another collaboration! This time with drowning-poppies and if you don't know who Hope is, you should really get acclimated with her because she is truly fantastic. A really, really skilled writer. (Her stanzas are in italics.)
If you fave my version, please fave hers!
If you fave my version, please fave hers!
oleander goodbyebleached black and obsidian shine
her fingers fill your veins with
cyanide as she tries to hold
on for the last moments of
the li(f)e she's choking on
curdling hope in the bubbling
throat of hypocrisy and fear
it is a formula for chemical
asphyxiation and dying
iris like a flower
stuck in the night
like an eye that never
saw the light of day
such singular bones
no others live up to their splendor
and none have yet seen the drum that
pumps them full of arsenic, a
beating splash of cochineal that
lies somewhere around the
48th parallel and 2 degrees east
and sleeps during the winter solstice
only to wake up to a son-less luna
and feels the tears of her moribund crux
in the form of soft daggers
pressing themselves into the skin
of life turned neolithic,
a statue of an age archaic
and she's tongued promises
down spines, inverted
watching as they sputter back up
spewing decay and rot into her poison veins
feeding them is no delicate business it is
starvation and avarice and
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Comments5
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This is absolutely beautiful