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Literature Text
hear her on white
waves in a spun room;
fifty six weeks without
and now you're dizzy in your skin
shaking for a fix
but she's an electric ghost-
a digital blip dancing on hypnotic sugar
lips brushing back the change you might have made.
waves in a spun room;
fifty six weeks without
and now you're dizzy in your skin
shaking for a fix
but she's an electric ghost-
a digital blip dancing on hypnotic sugar
lips brushing back the change you might have made.
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
snowglobe
we hoped it would get bad enough to break glass
that one of our voices
would find the note
to split the window
make a neighbour call the cops
that the dishes would shatter
into too many pieces
to be picked off the floor
we wanted glass in our heels
a trickle of heat
a flicker of colour
in the sun-blank snow
the pines leaned on our doorframe
we waited for them
to pressure in and unfurl
shower our stunned faces
in a rain of needles
knock the teapot off the table
in a blossom of shards
but the trees stood by
evergreen and identical
the same dream of pine repeating
behind yellowing plastic
we painted shut the door
with smi
Literature
no room
I am so full of me
there is no room
for you in here.
You can be out
there, alongside me,
but there is no room in here.
The hotel is full.
I am the Anna Madrigal
of my own soul.
So you be you
and I will be me.
If there is connection,
I will cherish it.
If there is not,
I will not miss it.
This does not diminish
my love and devotion,
nor your own to me.
It just makes it real.
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Comments12
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Wow! Really good take on the tortured experiences of a relapsed addict - to whatever - drugs, or a particular woman, if one wants to read it that way. This piece brought Ian's hard hitting 'street and underbelly' poetry to mind for me:
venturus.deviantart.com/
Do you know his work?
Excellent write.
venturus.deviantart.com/
Do you know his work?
Excellent write.