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Literature Text
We lost electricity on the night you left me
and I spent the night curled up against the rain,
drinking in the slack of damp green winds
in our treasured driftwood home of mist.
I had to come to think of time
as a medium and my thoughts as
imperfect and cursive. It was a wrinkled medium,
a mediocrity of sunken breath: words condensing
into droplets that so contorted my teary lenses
that I couldn't tell that you were turning towards me
with a sound, the sound a book makes
when its leaves are rustled against the grain.
Tonight my body lingers on the edge of the ocean
like a gasp; New Jersey's throaty highways
bear my rosefelt thoughts and I can't miss them
like I miss the cradle of the river,
like I miss the firm grip of the circular,
like I miss the existential faith we had in nature
and her artistic lover to take us home.
and I spent the night curled up against the rain,
drinking in the slack of damp green winds
in our treasured driftwood home of mist.
I had to come to think of time
as a medium and my thoughts as
imperfect and cursive. It was a wrinkled medium,
a mediocrity of sunken breath: words condensing
into droplets that so contorted my teary lenses
that I couldn't tell that you were turning towards me
with a sound, the sound a book makes
when its leaves are rustled against the grain.
Tonight my body lingers on the edge of the ocean
like a gasp; New Jersey's throaty highways
bear my rosefelt thoughts and I can't miss them
like I miss the cradle of the river,
like I miss the firm grip of the circular,
like I miss the existential faith we had in nature
and her artistic lover to take us home.
Literature
Metastasis
98.00
Autumn is the season when everything dies.
The leaves shrivel up and your lungs go with them, tiny dejected organs drying out inside your sternum, crinkling under our footsteps. The doctors pronounce their diagnosis as the leaves fall, listing medical terms and percentages and something about medication options.
The disease is metastatic: it has bored its way out of your lungs and into your bones. Dissatisfied, it's going for your organs, your liver, your heart. The prognosis says Christmas is a pipe dream, likely as the sun ceasing to set.
You promise it anyway.
94.00
November comes and I am a fish, breathing through makeshift gi
Literature
Radioactive Autumn
Radioactive Autumn
Draped in maple leaves and white gold,
her somber eyes hidden from the mounting ash.
Lack of contact labors a mutual threshold,
restless desires bred amongst odious machinations.
Staid throat drunk on her ambrosial sap,
more reverie to dirty all our neurons one by one.
Guttural cries rattle through shared visions,
depicted in blossoms and ignoring the damage done.
Literature
epitaph
in the end
when i'm almost gone
and all i've left
is a red lamp
and a ragged song
to pave my way
into the thunderstorm
let every raindrop murmur
i loved you and lost
nothing but emptiness
and the company
of ghosts
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This piece appears in Issue 2 of Minarets, out of New Zealand! Check it out:
minaretsjournal.com/2012/issue...
Featured by =DailyLitDeviations: dailylitdeviations.deviantart....
Edit 5.9.2012:
My third DD?!? You guys are crazy. Crazy awesome.
Endless thanks to the amazing =Vigilo and $wreckling
You folks carry this sort of springtime
with you wherever you go.
Inspired by this www.amazon.com/The-Given-Chose... and this www.youtube.com/watch?v=otJY2H....
Don't let this fool you. I'm actually really happy today.
© 2012 - 2024 archelyxs
Comments86
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I really liked the tone to this piece. The title, too, was much loved! I just felt that this must have been an important topic to you, because it seemed so effortless to read. The words complement each other, and I really liked when you made more references later on, which tied nicely back into an earlier thought. It just seemed like a contemplative piece, to me, so I think it’s only fitting that it connected trains of thought like it did. For example: in the first stanza, you mention rain and nature. It’s stated later towards the end of that stanza as “droplets,” and then it becomes oceans and rivers. It was just a really neat addition, for me!
I do feel that perhaps the first two lines are a little weak when compared to the rest of the poem. It didn’t take away from the experience at all, and I honestly think it’s just hard because the rest of this is so gorgeous. I feel completely inadequate critiquing your work, so I apologize! Please feel free to disregard any and all of my words.
This was a lovely, lovely piece. Thank you for sharing
I do feel that perhaps the first two lines are a little weak when compared to the rest of the poem. It didn’t take away from the experience at all, and I honestly think it’s just hard because the rest of this is so gorgeous. I feel completely inadequate critiquing your work, so I apologize! Please feel free to disregard any and all of my words.
This was a lovely, lovely piece. Thank you for sharing