begins his long march
which is a trespass
across strange earth.
of the foreigners
to whom he is the foreigner
are silken whistles
which he misses.
This is a long march.
This is a strange earth.
I am my own stranger.
LiminalityIf I believe in GodLiminality by ashellessmind
he sends me
wings from his stomach’s
& allows me to limn sublimity.
Or if each is living oblivious
I’ll wake in fright
& limn the flightlessness
of that night’s
AmpersandsThis quiet night I rescindAmpersands by ashellessmind
belief in ampersands.
Their patient meaning
collapses from forceful impatience.
Make an allowance for all
virtuosity to conclude.
Single nouns must now be governed
by single adjectives.
A reflection of my own singleness,
a reflection upon my own lack of governance.
Their meaning of unity I have reproved.
Their meaning of incessance I have begged to cease.
Please, let there be no remnant to be found remaining.
Please, let there be no more anymore.
Of endings, I foresee only one:
a period upon a too long period
a plague upon a man who couldn't wait.
Tracking RainThe insinuation of soft salt-rose-petaledTracking Rain by ashellessmind
rain pelting the window whistles
into these too changeable ears until 24 years,
seized with overbearing yearning, pour
into a single glass. The year I became Christian,
which is the year you drowned me
in a reign of love, whisks castaway
among a torrent of lingering & malingering
& my engulfment is recast
as you lifting me dripping to the surface.
Soon the self I had perceived hardly seems to be,
but for a faint rattling like that of train
tracks being racked upon my brainwaves
& although stronger metallurgy leads to more
pristine machinery, so does the warping
of the rack lead to both a wandering from
& wonderment at a rainy day's brilliant
ability to diffuse.
Rape WordsURape Words by ashellessmind
can’t write no poems
outta rape words
get inside yo mouth
& won’t let ne good thing come out
push inside yo mind
& suck yo thoughts dry
press against yo chest
& suffocate w/e
wantz 2 b expressd
swim around inside ya
curse ya shove ya blind ya
cry cry cry cry
sweep psweep by ifasinnerhasaname
a sudden thrust
towards your smile
just faintly out of reach
grasping airways to
memory and past each
running gag we
left six feet under
bout that time on the beach
where you said,
life is so simple,
try not to rhyme so
i the leper
fall into the seas
of real life and him and me
b e p
he asks and i say,
maybe another day.
rightthe key crunches through the backdoor lock faintly and I feel a pressure that rushes to push my heart in on all sides like a vacuum. the stress presses and forces and strains. when the door finally clicks shut I stretch the comforter further along the side of my face. the shine on my cheeks is barely noticeable after the familiar scratch of a blanket smooths them away. Im lying on the floor with my ear to the carpet and Im crying, and Ive been anticipating for an hour and fifty-three minutes. it could be anything.right by goo-goo-ga-joob
a click and a creak and sharp, sharp pain at the very crown of my head. the bottom corner of my bedroom door digs, dents into my follicled flesh and I shriek. immediate screaming, echoing in my aching brain, youre stupid what is your problem I cant believe you. dont dont dont, but she never stops, I tighten my jaw muscles and unfocus my eyes, stare at the carpet, try to block her ringing volume. and it never ever stops.
Daily Lit Deviations for July 6, 2009Daily Lit Deviations for July 6, 2009Daily Lit Deviations for July 6, 2009 by DailyLitDeviations
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HagiographyI said: tomorrow lets meetHagiography by renaissance1912
at this corner, I can buy
you a drink and well talk.
About what? you said, looking
beyond me, your eyes on the lights
of the Port Authority building and the signs
that kept trying to tell us
Eighth Avenue. All the time I kept thinking
those shrimp were so good, that we ate
at that bar in the theatre district. This still is
the theatre district, again but that was
the first flush of twenty-one, swaying
arms linked through the streets and punch-drunk
on a lack
of limits, though I poured my drink
into the ficus pot. Ive never liked alcohol
but the shrimp that night tasted
like cliché transformations, adolescence
transcended, the self
to the fore. I always thought you
were progression, and I would be stasis
till yanked from my concrete by you, my feet ripped
from the ground. The sickening smack
that the freshly-poured sidewalk would make
as it let go my soles. But I guess you
got tired of me. You got too far ahe