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About Deviant NathanMale/United States Group :iconword-smiths: Word-Smiths
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United States
We were dried, salted
slit sideways and spilled
no insides out.

And then I knew
we were such empty shells.


I am genuinely grateful for any fave that I get, so if I don't thank you individually it is because I hate the feeling that I'm just replying cookie cutter thanks. But know that I do appreciate the support very much.
Tagged by BlackBowfin

So I think this sounds like a cool little thing to do every couple weeks (hence the volume # in the title) because since some of the dumber recent changes to the site structure, I rarely spend much time looking at daily deviations. Of course, I'm also not on here as much as I used to be from a browsing standpoint so that probably has something to do with it. Either way, I've noticed that daily deviations- especially for lit- don't get the same level of attention/pageviews/etc as they used to. I think semiregularly doing these highlight features will expose me to more new works and writers, so at least for now I plan on making this a thing that I'll do.

Anyway, onto the arts:

progress reportthe astronauts never returned and neither did the news
in my hands i fold a megalithic pigeon
the take-home message is: the cosmos is a cold dead bitch
as you sleep under magazines, waiting for nothing.
in the shackles of a sterilized den, there's an actual
mastodon heart, pale and glassy pink, icy film
tightened like a fist;  - and the scientists despair:
   it's the morning of the opening,
then the few slashes of paralyzing waves.
like a sign we'd make when we were younger, a way to disarm
a bandit, or a preacher
                or the oncoming horde of space invaders.
but the drawings you sent to venus never returned,
 and now the crack,
          and the scientists at a loss before the angered public.
they release a report that states that the floodgates opened
        by themselves, that the valves erode
like the chalky sand that will swirl and hiss
Revel11 pm and I’m in the back kitchen
hands hot and raw on plastic
and soap,
and tender,
and tired.
And the restaurant shares an alleyway
with the pub, so of course as I stand there
in a brief fluorescent moment of alone,
these two girls, right, they come running,
swaying, past the sharp cold
square of fly-screen door
between me
and the knife-dark night.
Oh Christ,
and my fingers slip, no
purchase. A sliding
friction, and my hands
all thick and unsure.
I can’t see them, their flight
through blackly starred con-crete,
these shitfaced nymphs
in their bluemetal Bacchanal dream,
but I can imagine the spit and the glitter;
they are laughing and it sounds like it hurts,
one is shouting something, a sound, a word,
I think it’s ‘sex’,
just that,
over and over.
She’s screaming sex into the night,
and sober, slick to my elbows,
I think
I know how she feels.
lunacy.what the moon teaches us is
no one exists as a constant.
some days you will orbit elsewhere.
the angles of light that
make up the shadows of you
will keep moving.
it is the same with the ocean
and how it does not meet
the shore the same each time:
some days it will come crashing,
eroding: or it comes back to kiss
its edges over and over
there are some days i am more
of a tsunami. there will be days
you will be eclipsed.
and i don't mind this. the moon is
up in the sky but the ocean still feels
the weight of its pull, always.
i want to drown in the
push and pull of your gravity
in all the ways that's possible.
i could get used to the
different phases of this:
i could get used to our lunacy.
How to Pocket a Man's HumanityFirst, convince him to adopt
a rescue cat, fat, days away
from slaughter. Find one mis-
sing half his tail. The pair
will purr in tune; this step
is important. Next, rush him,
him and his rescue, to their
home, and then keep them dry
and healthy. Move deliberate-
ly, with articulation. Shape
the sound. Watch cat and man
sup together, sleep together.
Spring happens upon them, as
it does, and the man and his
rescue walk along the bridge-
less route to the forest and
grove without wind. Convince
him to let rescue race aloft,
to the distant hill-top. And
he will, and he does, and he
is gone. The man screams out-
ward into the meadow, scream
after scream weaving through
stalks of wheat, but nothing.
No clicks or mews. A nothing
against the rust of night on
the horizon. Help the man to-
ward his doorstep. Help keep
him apprised of the treeline
and its shadows. Finally, he,
rescue, appears, and the man
grabs your collar and shouts
and walks and runs and stops.
Rescue has brought home life

NGC 6188 in Ara by octane2maybe we found love right where we are by SHParsonsIt's Time To Live by LanaTustichI Against I by MissSouls

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Add a Comment:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner 10 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
What's up, ma friend?  Me-preciates the support.  Thank you. :)
oviedomedina Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2015
Thank you for the favorite! :)
(1 Reply)
IyraEMM Featured By Owner Oct 25, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
hey sexy pie eyes thanks for the fave. hope you've been well :hug:
(1 Reply)
seraphiclungs Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the watch! :D
(1 Reply)
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks, bud! :)
(1 Reply)
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