Craving, like an addict yet to find his substance
Ian M
Posts: 123
Bruises emerged like a tropical island chain
On the inside of my left thigh.
From where did they come,
From above or beneath,
To so cross the guiding stars
Be-freckled on the day of my birth?
Captive
There is a child
Locked away in my voice box
Rattling a broken cup
Against the bars,
Begging ever more quietly to be freed.
"Hold on in there,
Little one," I say
With the rise and fall
Of each new day;
"Stretch your legs,
Take a look for once
Outside your barcode window.
Here, try this soup
Taste this liquor -
It'll keep you warm
Keep in you the vigour
That you felt before."
I'm such a hapless gaoler
And my memories are in a trance,
A frantic dance upturning each object
That stalks, neglects with each new day,
Trying for the life of me
To remember where I left the key.
16/11 - brightest sky-clear moon,
The fullest of a long-time seen.
That's what you need - a bit of wonder creeping from the cloud that looked for everything like a cancerous growth from the side of the tower block.
A bit of blue-grey wonder, despite the un-mediated glare blurring sight -
A coldness on good letter-writing terms with its nemesis: warmth.
That's what I needed to show me beauties that can still exist beyond the pale, powder-plaster insanity of our current existence
Blush
The vast mesh of life,
A texture incomprehensible.
Pulling strings until taught and visible
You can uncover unexpected connections
That leave you astounded, almost paralysed
Before the utter simplicity, the causes, their effects
The feeling of comprehension (almost a knowledge in itself) and unity.
These are the tendons of thought
That make their presence felt
When they are called upon to support the image
Of rising blood in your cheeks, my dear,
And the gravities that might join us in an endless dance,
As, plumbing the depths of my own cavernous wells,
A crimson tide rushes forth to engulf me in waves of sympathy and consolation.
Bruises, discoloration of the skin, pimples, scars.
Set against the constellation of the plough written in freckles on my skin.
Some features seem to come and go at great pace.
Others look as though they will never disappear.
But they are like the continents and islands and atolls and volcanoes and sandbanks so sudden with lagoons and fleeting vegetation -
Reminders themselves of the ultimate transience of it all,
The oceans, the skies, the planet, the stars themselves
All passing, all at a point on their journey
That they will never again revisit.
On the inside of my left thigh.
From where did they come,
From above or beneath,
To so cross the guiding stars
Be-freckled on the day of my birth?
Captive
There is a child
Locked away in my voice box
Rattling a broken cup
Against the bars,
Begging ever more quietly to be freed.
"Hold on in there,
Little one," I say
With the rise and fall
Of each new day;
"Stretch your legs,
Take a look for once
Outside your barcode window.
Here, try this soup
Taste this liquor -
It'll keep you warm
Keep in you the vigour
That you felt before."
I'm such a hapless gaoler
And my memories are in a trance,
A frantic dance upturning each object
That stalks, neglects with each new day,
Trying for the life of me
To remember where I left the key.
16/11 - brightest sky-clear moon,
The fullest of a long-time seen.
That's what you need - a bit of wonder creeping from the cloud that looked for everything like a cancerous growth from the side of the tower block.
A bit of blue-grey wonder, despite the un-mediated glare blurring sight -
A coldness on good letter-writing terms with its nemesis: warmth.
That's what I needed to show me beauties that can still exist beyond the pale, powder-plaster insanity of our current existence
Blush
The vast mesh of life,
A texture incomprehensible.
Pulling strings until taught and visible
You can uncover unexpected connections
That leave you astounded, almost paralysed
Before the utter simplicity, the causes, their effects
The feeling of comprehension (almost a knowledge in itself) and unity.
These are the tendons of thought
That make their presence felt
When they are called upon to support the image
Of rising blood in your cheeks, my dear,
And the gravities that might join us in an endless dance,
As, plumbing the depths of my own cavernous wells,
A crimson tide rushes forth to engulf me in waves of sympathy and consolation.
Bruises, discoloration of the skin, pimples, scars.
Set against the constellation of the plough written in freckles on my skin.
Some features seem to come and go at great pace.
Others look as though they will never disappear.
But they are like the continents and islands and atolls and volcanoes and sandbanks so sudden with lagoons and fleeting vegetation -
Reminders themselves of the ultimate transience of it all,
The oceans, the skies, the planet, the stars themselves
All passing, all at a point on their journey
That they will never again revisit.
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
Johnny Cash (to Frank Castle/The Punisher)
if that little one adores you unconditionally loving you for life...
DON'T FUCK THAT UP 2.
Fuck up...the USA...
Look at me...I can rig...
The presidency!!!!
Eliza - thanks, but wtf? Don't know exactly what you're trying to tell me here. Is this the pot calling the kettle, I wonder...
You know very well that I'm no pot and you're not black... except maybe inside right now. I understand each word you wrote. The answers you wish to seek are in my first reponse.
Fuck up...the USA...
Look at me...I can rig...
The presidency!!!!