.
He has legs like parentheses.
- holding the words
of my
aching thighs
tight.
- gazelle runner
yellow jacketed
forced to return.
- kick in the teeth
elemental fury
with
clean, wet whiskers
He has legs like parentheses
but
every time
I catch him looking
his eyes scream
period.
.
I am a shit-wind butterfly
uncaged too soon
and utterly flippant.
I am a sour-graped
little girl
of
t(w)o seconds
t(o)o soon
drowning in the
concrete
of
his
ant-killer
moon-sucker
innards.
to walk, uprightly by TranslucentWings, literature
Literature
to walk, uprightly
Him and Her (they, we, us) sit visciously atop grassy railroad tracks, muttering hippy somethings into the brisk, crisp, bright air.
Her:
she screams with prolific veracity.
her gums, an open mouth-hole exacerbating dental fears.
He stands beside her, vegetables tumbling down the slope of his nose to meet mouth, chin, knees, ground. Listens with a brilliant intensity: Eyes focused: Her reeling, screaming, angry intervals of mild cognitive impairment flavors his dull life of suburban Hell sparks. His lips smack together, wet lips.
Her: At this she clutches the crossing, still shouting
Her reeling. His
--
ninety degrees by
ninety
by ninety degrees more
are her confines.
between cobwebs and dusty corners she hides
escaping the fiery wrath
of a thousand grabbing hands
she wades through weeds;
moses in the sea;
she is a shadow
crouching in the corner
reaching for something more
that is not
pious and bears no resemblence
to God version two on the cross
[hanging, dead]
Gabriel, flying
spitting shism and spit
upon her head before she enters
jesus visits later
violently copulating
underneath a tin roof
safe from the eyes of Him
she swings through the bedroom door
[lacking st
catacombed charlie by TranslucentWings, literature
Literature
catacombed charlie
.
[he dreams of]
charlie lingering
victim of
the electric guitar
too many nights,
together
playing
to
ravenous eyes
luring the midnight ground
of a dream,
unfolded
blending ego with
subconsciousness
has yet to be so pretentious
behind blue
plastic
seats.
[but alone]
he has ill to break
from a mind
impeded by right angles
the interpretation of trigonometric
functions
behind a pretty face
while silently calculating
the rough end of his mind,
so that he may map
his bleariest of
days
with equations
and square roots
poor Charlie,
lingering Charlie,
cat
--
i see myself
inclined to thumb
wrinkles neighboring his eyes
around the corners of his
mouth.
(slightly to the left)
painting lines across
his forehead
headmarking the future
catastrophically constructed
breakdowns
sprawled throughout his sheets
among one he
asks,
"So,
do you write anymore?"
no,
not really.
who would have thought that
cotton-mouth to non
could be so charming?
--
--
death on main
he liked strawberries
and girls
29, 29, 29
match cut to
technological breakthroughs
cancer and mp3s
swipe into
a suture of rape
the smell of sex and screams
inside a place where
Mother burns a 50, cupping her breasts
lays her head to the
dirty streets
and hears the city groan
habitual bombardment of
IMAGE IMAGE IMAGE
my mind explodes
into a pixelated mess of
Thursday night Primetime.
--
anne sexton
is my halve
and
my sixth finger.
like myself,
her eyes were much too large
for her face
gaping,
two open cavities yearning
to be torn away.
our moon is a peep hole
poked through the nighttime sky
through which
God,
the pervert,
stares.
naturally,
we are sure to stand
in front
of the unclothed window.
we can find no shame.
this is apparent
in the way
we can not stop writing of ourselves
and lap
the neighbor's conciousness
with greedy tongues.
also how
lights flicker undecidedly
in our presence
because they are afraid.
and we are not.
uncouth fingernails
stained black with time and
cold with a
+ tracing mary . i by TranslucentWings, literature
Literature
+ tracing mary . i
--
I could never quite fathom
why the wind seemed to
escape her
as my fingers froze.
maybe
it was because
she never thought as deep
or
walked as far
but
she loved me all the same.
sitting upright,
crumpled between her
too-many-leather-jackets
closets
and
jump-rope
afternoons
it was all she knew.
egging me on
egging me on
to make my own crazy household
and to
belong there,
only.
--
--
Counting fingers
like an addict
you were screaming coffee
and
nicotine
amidst an Avenue:
Central.
You held my waist
tight
and kept on
Counting fingers.
Goddess,
goddess:
I claim to be none short of ten.
clogging past
tall,
raspberry flavored
the colors burned,
supersaturated
upon your face -
Counting fingers
Mathematician,
begging
tentententen
as love drew circles
around your lips.
--
He curled into the bus seat
as if he were a fallen
movie star.
[he looked like one.]
I could picture it,
I could picture it.
Naked, Bathed.
Maybe we are both good people -
dancing on our feet.
I watched
more
from across the aisle.
We owe eachother nothing
( too. )
I do it, just because
I want
( to. )
And if you leave me in my lust
I don't mind
I don't mind
I don't mind
I don't mind.
You will get Hungry someday.
"Eating all of the words th
I once met the devil
He had eyes that burned a neon blue
and as they dripped from the sky
to the slippery earth from which
his crooked legs had sprouted
he said to me,
"My hands could possess ink blotches
like bruises,
but I'm late for the city."
An I bid him farewell as he left
to run with the rats and sleep under
open windows.
I once met a man
He lived and worked for the garden
meddling with the haystacks
and humming his tunes.
The flashes and noise of
the highway
built a castle around him
and drowned out his ditty
so that now instead o
Just like I always do;
I've ruined it.
Knowingly,
I've crushed my agreeable tumor.
And blinded my eyes
with its ash
I'll grab handfuls of this
fallen folly
and fill my mouth
until it drops
from my lips
And forms
a soft
pillow.
of maligned midnight musings.
across my maroon lacquered
toenails
where I may rest my head
dans l'ete
And speak only to my pen
and my paper
For,
I
have
ruined
it
Just like I've always done.
And this isn't one of those melo-dramati
I've discovered
today
that I don't know how to answer the telephone
anymore.
My voice must not be in shape.
(Fatty!)
So,
My thoughts are like stumbling little peasants
Searching for someone to unload upon
Scuttering, Skittering
through these little, suffocated
Streets
I can not find him at any corner
of
ANY
rat-infested-little-dust-road.
I know he's around;
Yeah;
He's probably waiting for me.
Aha, ha
He walked in
Prancing
little mattresses shielding his eyes
Aha, ha
His eyes, eyes, eyes
his eyes
boring little, little
little fucking holes
into m
"What are your feelings about that huge black moth?"
Well,
I kind of like it.
[to be honest with you.]
Reminds me of him.
fluttering against the
cracked wallpaperceiling
bangs into the edge
bangs into the edge
bangs into the edge
I can hear the newspaper crinkle
downstairs.
I'll Drink To That by TranslucentWings, literature
Literature
I'll Drink To That
"I feel empty."
[is how it began]
His advice on apathy
has left me drawing dots
on top of the page.
I thought that I had once
severed into his ice
but a realization
has now hit me like a glass wave
reflecting me,
only.
He is so content with his mediocrity
and wills me to be, too.
I almost want to throw
up
all over his
shiny
stylish
shoes
But
I'm afraid he might be right.
So
I fell in love with Bukowski
The seasons changed
and so did the news
but the people didn't
and neither
did
their
pets.
And,
of course,
neither did
the room is laying awkwardly
and a beetle is tapping a
cadence along the hardwood floors.
interrupted by your symphony of eclectic inquiries.
it's almost dark
it's almost dark
it's almost dark
i'll peel off the mosaics of your face
and we can
put on a short little play
in the theatre of your sheets.
-
Our trees have been withered
denounced into
crouching shrubs - aplogetic, almost,
it seems.
Replaced
(Quickly and cost-friendly, mind you)
by some binary plastic twigs and leaves
Surveyed, with the accompanying
symmetrical dreams of robots, digging.
so that we may continue lounging,
reading our glossies,
popping our prozacs.
even the wind is generated
and today the blowing rate
is adjusted to setting number four
so it's a bit chilly
and slowly, even now,
we're choking out the sun
and Helios with all his glory
is feeling time, and his lids droop more each
--
the pvc population
is quickly rising
as quickly as the sun
is running from
our transgressive trends.
not even a well-hidden necromancer
has the chance
or strength
to dream in this
plastic ocean.
we're just as busy as you are,
keeping up with the news.
But, still, in between all of this
Even,
Time sits on the park bench
adjacent to the bank
thinking to himself,
'man,
I need a girl.'
I guess maybe we all get lonely sometimes.
And we're currently working on a cure,
so have no fear.
litter bug, litter bug
throw away your sorrow
along with the empt
.
Come, let us wave farewell
dear,
just as we've always done
even though we both know
that when our contemporaries
look down at their hands -
canvas of skin
stretched across aching,
old bones
that our hands remain -
youthful,
poignant.
Children of a dream.
I've been evading this world
of clean silverware
collapsing upon the dust ridden floor
just for you lately.
But in between it all
we've decided
we still don't know.
Anything at all, really.
We're running
mouths hanging open
thinking we know the world
and it's
Birds
squeaking
Fan
spinning
Kids
yelling
Cars
going by every 45 seconds or so
i
sit in an apartment
that does not belong to me
but that i sleep in most of the time
and spend most of my money on
but that part doesn't bother me too much.
It's the nicest day of the year so far
probably
(April).
I'm sitting here
waiting for something.
the blank i draw in my mind shall be referred to as
something.
i feel as if i'm
always
following
someone, in the literal sense of the word and
riding
+
1. The word love is hereby banished from all future poems. Except on Wednesdays. Or during rare celestial events: a blue moon, the aurora borealis.
2. Ditto on all references to beauty and its second cousin twice removed, the beautiful.
3. Parenthetical phrases set off by either full-fledged parantheses or more straightforward dashes are from here on out verboten.
4. As of today, colors will be used out of sheer necessity only: cornflower blue especially and the kick-your-ass-till-Sunday red of sumptuous Russian icons.
5. Food, flowers, fruit, and birds (but in particular the flowers) will be admitted only after long scrutiny a
I drove by each red light by lesseroflindsey, literature
Literature
I drove by each red light
It's getting so cold that
when I start my car,
I can see my breath.
-----------------------
And every word that falls out of my lips,
/ clings to the windshield.
And my defrost gets rid of all the ice.
.But not your name.
In a shell of I nut. Innuendo. by lesseroflindsey, literature
Literature
In a shell of I nut. Innuendo.
There's something about,
slicing my finger open,
that makes me smile.
Because I know, the sympathy will
overtake the pain of the open wound.
And I really shouldn't tell you that,
but I don't care.
I should also tell you,
I loved holding you in my arms.
And watching you sleep.
In. My. Arms.
I shouldn't say that, but it's true.
Today.
I found that my best hobby
is lying to the check out lady.
Because I will never see her again.
And she doesn't care what I say.
Because in the next hour and a half,
she is focused on forgetting everything she has learned.
Why not make myself sound normal?
Candles will not stay lit when the w
You, According to Me by xonlyindreamsx, literature
Literature
You, According to Me
You had the name of a biblical figure and a face that could sell hundreds of overly priced jeans. Reckless herds of prepubescent girls would have thrown training bras at your feet if you were to ever strut across a stage and lip synch to digitally enhanced noise. Admirers would sprout from soiled dreams on a daily basis because you looked like a boy their mother's would approve of and had a tendency to act like that elementary school bully who was responsible for a classroom full of invisible hands. I didn't understand the attraction. I didn't understand my attraction. It must have been the blue eyes. Or perhaps it was the permanently tousled
Just like a Thief...
You've taken your eyes.
You've taken the truth!
And You've robbed the town blind.
This place won't be the same. Never the same.
The brightest lights belong downtown.
Not in your eyes!
No....
Not in your eyes.
The city can't see.
Not through your eyes.
I spend two & a half smiles on strangers,
drink a bottle of casual words
& head down a silent street, accompanied
by muted endeavors of faceless clowns.
It's a tired, malnourished day, strained
over frail dusty bones of hours
& as I run my hand along a minute,
it feels like leather, worn from wear.
You still arise in idle thoughts:
the way you stopped to watch me at
an ambiguous train station up north.
You were the streetlight that blinked on
& off in futile attempt to murder wind
while snow raced horizontal lines
& hurried past large metal doors.
You seemed to revel in movement,
smoothed air with your skin
as I headed on. G
*
i see you there your black hair
your eyes just stare your mind is
turning
you know i'll laugh
and
i wont take it back i've seen your eyes i know what you're thinking and one by one we'll shoot our guns we'll have fun
don't ever doubt it
and when i say
fare thee well
my only friend
oh how the days go
your setting sun your
broken
drum
your little drugs
i'll never forget you
never forget
you
*
support brilliancy. purchase 'guero' by beck.
so, how are all of my fellow dA mates out there?
everything is going well here, although i am debating which poem i should post next. i could either post a finished poem much similar to my 'catacombed charlie' poem called 'seeking annette' or i could post a more personal poem, 'a verbose we.' i don't hold a particular preference, just wondering which you'd be more interested in reading.
i just finished my winter break, which was, as always, much too short and way too cold. i didn't do too much although i did go skiing and snow-shoeing with my boyfriend along with the usual bumming around; and to amherst, massachusetts. all was well an
In an effort to clean up my watched/watcher lists, I am blocking people that haven't commented and refuse to remove my name from their list. You have not commented on anything of mine in a long time. If you want to be allowed to watch me again, e-mail blackburningtears@yahoo.com with your deviantart user name so I can unblock you.