[x]

IntimacyI asked to be slapped—
and your palm met my cheek
with constraint, cupped to lessen
the ensuing redness, the responsive tears
that welled but only in my left eye.

There are things like tealights
and dinners after midnight that we agree
to be romantic: that we consume
through antique filters, lace
between our fingers, but your palms
sweat when we hold hands
and I've never liked skin webbing,
nor the catch of calluses—

So, I propose to rewrite
a definition: mostly for my sake,
but also for the sakes of others
who have found themselves wondering
if they might be a-something
because they don't like to be touched
softly on the sk

novemberthe sun is a dim pearl
beneath a blanket of gray
hung low from the heavens;

i'm your yellow tremor
paled by the cold, aching
for a proper sunrise.

a playroom in mississippihe is a skinny kid
who builds a simple fort
with six dining chairs,
poking holes in a nice black sheet;
his mother, weary, scolds him
but he says they needs stars!

next comes the dirt,
lugged in from the yard,
a red bucket of it with bits of sod
dumped on the floor.
he constructs lopsided hills,
digs shallow rivers and egg-shaped lakes,
fills them with tap water,
and places insects onto their fresh earth.

they scurry, settle,
lay tiny families and flourish;
he feeds them melon rinds and bread,
protecting their homes from centipedes,
spiders with angry eyes and legs.
he names them all, calls them children,

but mother c

equinoxsummer is
strawberry-flavoured
emancipation,
a subtle shift in the light.

drifting, you
start to miss the ivy
that crawled over your eyes
and shielded them from shadows.

as for myself,
I think I’ve fallen in love
with the idea of it,
soporific, spindling, sublime:

all the s's in your name
straightening their spines
in sequence.

can you hear the sudden hush
of a shifting season?
listen: shake the snow from your hair
and breathe.

transition--ing
i am -- transition:
without you.

lingering here --
feelings i can't seem
to process.

let me burn,
bright, hot;
light up the midday sky
with myself.

driving in the middle
of the road
when i'm alone:
without you.

"compulsive behaviors",
i'm told, defined:
getting -- sorted -- out.

i am -- transition:
finding myself.

sister yesterdayeven our plastic flowers had faded—
an overgrown garden of concrete and pottery,
wrought-iron furniture under the sunlight, paling—
a broken lawnmower in a rotting wood shed, a swingset
creaking with each gust of wind—

but she said—
let's gather up these old tin cans,
empty the pool of its stagnant memory,
relight the candles and mend this picnic table,
recall the laughter we shared here when
our summer was in bloom—

when mother wore that sky blue dress
and planted shiny pinwheels,
lazily spinning

untitledseducing the writer
is pointless;
he'll seduce himself
if you're silent.

contract's upI fear the moment
when someone will come along
who is able to say all the things
you can't, someone
to whom my body will betray me.
And I swear,
on topless memories we've shared
and bedsheets
that turned yellow beneath us,
it was not up to me.
I was content to stay
tucked beneath your arm,
never defining anything,
forever,
until you decided
you were in love with labels
So I became a jar of paper-folded
secrets
that you fold-
-ed
little parts of your disturbing past in.
So if this someone comes along
soon
I swear I'll begin to
doubt
just how much of it is owed to you.

a town i don't want to call mineon the right of the turquoise green sign
that welcomes you to columbia,
there are two gas stations and a church.
on the left side, there’s a morgue.

when i was five years old, my father pulled over
and stopped on the side of the road while black car
after black car passed us, going the other way.
“did we know them?” i asked.
“no,” he said, putting the car in drive. “but someone did.”

at seven, mr. jimmy down at the ice cream shop
let me have free samples of all the new flavors he made
before he put them out to the public.
a favor, he called it, for his little henry.

(years later i would realize t

Phoenixshe was
crimson epiphanies, molten elegies
enveloped by dirges of the dead, chanting:

when in god's world, sweet child
pray at the altars of silence

oceans bowed before the grace
of earth-worn eyes, reminders:
serendipity's lost cause.

gravitas and
freedom-- absorbed

absolving rays of enlightenment
shedding stardust skin, peeling
layers of reminiscence from
immolated bones

self-sequestered
flames

she is
sanctified white flags-
divine serenades of rebirth.

affinitypurple guitars but
with broken strings,
dream catchers on walls
but they can't keep out the dreams.

clock frozen;
2 minutes to eight
with shooting star memories
and snapshot silhouettes
of moments i've
tried so hard to forget.

dusty teddy bears
on shelves i've forgotten how to reach,

or maybe just forgotten how to love.

11there is fire in this house;
the walls bow and the ceiling
heaves but i do not move
to save you.
i will not move anymore
for i have moved cathedrals
and state-borders and trust.
it is your turn to burn from
the embers and be out of
breath.

today's lunchthere is a mug i possess that's
chipped and white and very plain,
but it reminds me of the way
a young artist draws a cup.

i buy a certain brand of fish
from the aldi shy of tinley,
and it's always freezer burnt but
with butter and lemon and tea
it tastes like a delicacy.

an ache bursts within my stomach
that ignores my effort to quell it;
sometimes, it calms with heat and
reminds me of feverish nights
spent beneath a madonna's gaze.

my mother did laundry most days,
and her tired hands left tired lines
like the ones beneath her eyes, and
the clothes i wore were always wrinkled
but i fold mine the same.

i own a shirt th

Belated Valentinehe bought me a typewriter
and said, "i can't write,
so write me something
beautiful; your words are
sometimes sad but always
powerful."

summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?
i. summergirl,
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
surefooted smile.
ii. you have grown
so fast.
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
perched treetop,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
summergirl, th

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On the Acid SpectrumPure Innovation, unsullied by derivative bias, originates from creative delusion; by achieving dissonance with convention, a state often mistaken for insanity or grandeur, one does not separate himself from reality but discovers an interpretation of it, applying a clean lens through which echos and images are processed: a fresh perspective, powerful and strange, capable of altering every mind it touches—until it also becomes commonality. Thus, it is our responsibility as artists to deny notions of impossibility, sin, social mores, and instead live above the average men because, without Innovation, we are animals: thoughtless, base, stag

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acrid

by *glossolalias, Jan 4, 2013, 4:22:18 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

i.

a dead bird rots,
stomach heat-split and picked on,
feathers stuck to the concrete
when he peels it up.

ii.

he pours kerosene,
holding one shaking match lit—
fat melts, entrails crisp,
marrow dries and bones crack,
ashes rise against the wind,
falling on gray buildings.

iii.

in his midmorning dream,
the phoenix soars.

acridby *glossolalias

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

inspired by: [link]
song suggested by:

for this game: [link]

freedom is a weird idea to play with.

!Lacewinged-Beauty Jan 6, 2013 Writer

^{This caught my eye first, out of the dozen you posted. I love it, especially that first stanza. Excellent work.}

*glossolalias Jan 6, 2013

thank you

i still have so many to work through~~

!Lacewinged-Beauty Jan 6, 2013 Writer

^{You are most welcome

I can imagine}

=TristanCody Jan 5, 2013 Student Writer

Rather lovely. Much enjoyed.

*glossolalias Jan 6, 2013

thank you!

=TristanCody Jan 6, 2013 Student Writer

You are most welcome!

~Frencifry Jan 4, 2013 Writer

The vivid imagery is certainly captivating. o.o I swear, I couldn't stop reading once I got to the middle of it. :3 Beautifully written, and interesting indeed. *applause* Job well done!

*glossolalias Jan 4, 2013

thank you!

~Frencifry Jan 4, 2013 Writer

Not a problem^^

=gliitchlord Jan 4, 2013 Writer

if you pruned the double concrete at the beginning this would be unstoppable.

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