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when you wish you had-n't-stringing your eyes with garlands of stars i
wish to impeach you, maybe impregnate you
with a will to breathe
but what are you but an incoming breath
to me? an unapologetic zephyr gracing
my inner vineyards
ruffling the leaves with whispers
(i understand it
isn't so collapsible, and
i'm forgetting i forget
but when the winds turn
you're a harlot, ruining this year's
yield of self
(importance and confidence)
and i'm understandably drinking
the vinegar left
trying to breathe in the lights
i gift you with - always
and i have only the stars
the stars to blame.
lets goRelentless as an ocean eroding
the creases of my cliff face
tidal waves of you
crash along my boundary stones
the push and pull of blue:
emotions white wash
i don't think the ground will keep
beneath me and i'll plunge
the push and pull of you
(are you waiting)
(are you waiting)
(are you waiting for an sos on the sand?)
-truth-will you meet me in the spaces
between our fingers
indivisible, but one
(and all the smaller pieces
that don't matter)
a hollow note
twenty minutes to dawn
(i know this because we've been here before)
in this moment, and this thing of arms and arms entwined, called embrace
this moment on soft notsosoft ground sheets
it's the same
and in this moment
this moment is again
and your voices
singing as the past
ceilings and walls
that do not house me
anymore, i hear you
you are farther away
when i am with you
than when we are
so far apart
i do not have a traditional clock
that could tick away the night
in even tones
to focus on
when i'm trying my hardest not to be awake
i only have digitalisations left
ends with one. And IIts November again and I feel as if the bracken on the trees has changed so much. And yet, I would not knowI am so far away from that placein not only years.
I believe you look the same. Of course I cant be sure, but real-time details dont change my mental image of you. So I say it. So I believe it. You would rather me believe youve changed for the better, but I know better could only be the same as you were.
But I have changed, of course. And of course it is only ever one-sided this we would agree on. You try to tickle out the nuances you remember that I do not, but I didnt tell you I learnt to suppress the urge to laugh.
But Ill laugh, dont worry.
What I remember most are your eyes. Because they are everything I knew I wanted to exist. No, I couldnt tell you what colour they are, in certainty, but I know them more than I know my own.
Although, I must learn to remember that all we're doing is finding a very similar kin
home-boundi catch little insects with my fingers
it makes me feel so powerful
and having become god in your eyes, also -
take your sorrys with me,
shuffle through turnstiles,
take the line closest to the door.
i speak erratic, tongue sore
explaining away this
he said it was "very zen"
to undo, unravel,
of course i cringed.
having had your breath taken
you have the gall
to ask for
hair-line fracturei am frugal with my wrists
i won't let them see you, enough
now, i'll say, and push them back
into my sleeves, hurriedly
like they could really catch
a cold from your eyes. your
two glaciers of disinterest, kind
of sparked your curiosity
did i? my wrists, they creak
like old willows breaking in
the wind, hunching from the knot
along their side, heavy with
finger branches, soft keratin
leaves you can rip out sometimes
after it rains heavy like
the storm i slept through last
night, and you told me there
was hail, and howling and i
did not believe you until i asked
other people. why is
that? how i don't believe
in storms. how i don't believe
my wrists could hold out under
the pressure of a watch even
though i used to wear three,
and tell them all to guess which
one worked. least of all, i know
my wrists aren't broken.
to build-up smilesi'd like to seduce happiness
buy a new dress for contentedness
slut it up for ecstasy
pull down the sheets on frivolity
melt down the wax around sacrifice
excuse myself for rushing
i'd like to choreograph prayer
the build-up to the artifice
stop smiles from touching
begin the wake before the dawn
the black before the white; a pair
disbanded before a circle shared
one half realising, "i'm just another pawn."
In the Beginning...There was no beginning.
Just an endless mass of you.
Like, if I'd slept with a fishing line,
I would have woke to your bite
whether I'd set bait or not.
I'd always wanted someone like you;
with the meaning of life
scattered across their toes
- now you dance at my feet.
And I can see your puddles of blue melting across
my palms as I lather myself with you, watching the way
you dissolve beneath my nails without leaving a stain.
It makes me realise that kissing you is what flying is to fish
and the clouds we avoid are ladders to ground level.
I do recall.
I do recall:
curled smoke on pillows never meant to see light,
wishing the window sill were deeper-
so I could sleep against the glass.
a candle brushing cigarettes,
a bowl of money by the lamp
but it's not Spring,
and your arms were never thrilling.
I get along without you very well
black lace to cover modest breasts,
you wear your uniform to town and drink.
I kiss you roughly when you come home with lipstick
between the bullet and the tree house scars
but when rain drips from leaves shaped like coins,
I get along without you very well.
Chamber of Stars IIIThe trampoline nights:
Letting the dew fall on our backs
at one a.m.
It was a barely believeable high
to kiss the mouth of our desire
and buck the music against the summer sky
in the deep night of trees
and play like children
Then, we fought like travellers fight:
dissolving to laughter
and when we reached the appalachians
stars greeted us
while our hosts waited for us to arrive
We had lost our souls
and they accelerated back to us
on a pinpoint beam
If I could get off this place
thats where I'd get to
to the vault where they hide
and I would drink
plastered against the ever
Love vs. TrustWho can trust a girl like me
to make the right
The choice between the boy
With the future in
And honesty embedded in
The boy from the past, with naught but
Lust in his heart,
And red wa
The Laws of LongingThere are times when the stars in her
collide and every thought of him
disintegrates into dust,
times when he holds her
at a distance she can't translate,
when he loves her
only in silhouette,
the days when he makes her feel
like the blue skies of his youth,
making theirs not love
but a reminiscing,
or when he looks at her and his eyes flicker
like a three a.m. silence needing caffeine
and how, though she tries to storm his inhibitions,
he keeps the drawbridge to his chest.
But, mostly, it happens when she sleeps,
curled away from him like a question,
when he catches the certainty of her shape
and thinks it's been too long
since he was last in love
but still lights another cigarette anyway
and attempts to smoke the longing out.
West Delmar Jimmy carries pink carnations
tied with pixie stick paper
home to a woman who dips string in wax
and braids the hair of half-black babies.
He stands behind the bus driver,
he walks uneven red brick
and stops to collect cigarette tails.
The church where he married her has a broken window-
and the aspersorium lies on its side,
and the pew where he cried for King is burned,
and ash whispers the secret language of cracks in wood.
He kisses her where the ear blossoms into floss hair
and her gate-mouth reveals a tongue like pink carnations.
He speaks of rains between cloud cheeks,
he speaks of honey and orange slices to catch fruit flies.
She speaks of tomorrows good day,
she lies on sunflower sheets and dreams the ceiling will cave.
When the flood comes,
they pour chalk around the yard and wait for the white line to rise.
guilty bonesi've got a collection of bones in my closet
that used to peek out hesitantly from
behind a sheet of slick skin.
scoured and ocean-bleached and chipped.
i've got skeletons of lovely bones;
lovely, haunting bones.
i've got a stomach full of guilt
that bubbles with every swallow.
smiling rots my teeth
and brings acid to my throat.
hollow bones in my closet
hold my secrets in their cavities.
drowsy antihistamines don't do their jobs.
the guilty rattling in my closet
is too loud to let me
drift and die.
tense dreamssoft, i pace the
span of your
trickling in, delicate
cusp of throat. outside,
brass clash of bodies
joyous, but stale: raised
bellies burst open to
cradle the night.
fear makes us gentle,
light like wings, every
rush lipped with tender
disbelief. only raw, i
am honest: this plunge
of bones, this truth,
spilling ripe and forgotten:
that i may open,
and live on.
(my ruinous gods:
their eyelids twitch with
dead glory. a tongue spoken
in chemicals, the blind shake--)
but soft, i press the
flats in your spine to sleep,
wonderless yet, and spelled
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More