Belated Saturday Morning Features - 3

better late than never, eh?

this is a weekly feature in which i select ten phenomenal literature deviations that have recently caught my eye. if you have been featured, please this journal and read the other works. now, onto the main event—

the heater ladyi was pulled by an office-light moon
to a lone street, couple of cars
sailing on the slimy chalk road,
there's a CitySprint van by a red brick wall,
fear trickling down the trees
and i'm a slick street thug mugging all it can haul
i was called to a bridge by a burning frost
fervent as it was obscene,
like a broadsword enthralled
in the chest of a working class Paul,
poor man mauled and i'm his savings
sprawled across the railway like rain
i was drunk by the pub, fell apart
like foam at a pint glass rim,
hanging by the whim of a lady
with a body of bed and a radiator warmth
spilling like coffee's scent
and i'm a street lamp
dimming at the white of the moon,
alarm bells feeling as i tip to my toes,
waltzing like a buzz with the simmering cold.
"i was called to a bridge by a burning frost
fervent as it was obscene,
like a broadsword enthralled
in the chest of a working class Paul"


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"violated:"



"smelling burning cane syrup
at rumdrunk full moon twilight"



"If you are even there
in the stretch of oceans, across icy miles
of bleak black. Do you exist? Are you there?
Green beacon means yes."


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"that my mother left the hospital
with a cheque in hand to make up for
"the accident," of course."



"you write songs in the back of your mind
or something of that ilk
because triads well from the tips of your fingers
and i thought i was the dreamer—"


hulkingi. visiting hours
I was sure
I was kept.
A signal inaudible
amid the bustle of feet
and the everpresent shuffle
of thieves.
An occupation
in the streets;
a practiced pattern
of patient peace.
But my isolation
was a doctored thesis,
a particle smashed
with a spidering neatness.
A theory of chaos
in its incompleteness
is just enough
to lure me from discreetness.
ii. consultation
I will keep
him in check.
Heroes, heirs, and heroines
in unstable form.
A catalyst sought
by a gathering storm.
Against the mindlessness
of the swarm
we've been assembled
to stay the horns.
But this guardian element
is stealthily worn;
a collared threat
kept from collective borne.
Smoke and mirrors
cannot contain a war.
Thus a uniform in stitch
is torn.
iii. incorrect dosage
I can feel
the genes flex.
Pushed to a point
by a trickster's vex.
I would smear a stain
a non-insects
but then the might
of lightning interjects.
iv. ozonotherapy
I embrace
my new debt:
the gravity of my rage
my a
"Against the mindlessness
of the swarm
we've been assembled
to stay the horns."


Expunge    It starts like the bristling detachment of Velcro or the arrogant snap of a rubber band on your wrist. The cringing, ripping sound, the reflexive quick sting, ringing vibrantly on in the moments after. Like a bell that tolls a beat of hours that is overlooked in the passing, then counted by recalling rhythm afterwards. Instinctually, you want to keep going, keep climbing, over rubble and debris. The day has long since ended as you move through stark jagged blackness. You check the breast pocket of your jacket for a match. You strike the little brown line, once, twice, three times and light the now apparent hallway. The match burns down to your fingertips and dies. You let the remnants of stick and ash fall on the floor of the thick carpeted rug, decorated like elevator music, and see that your panoramic view of atmosphere stays alight, and right in front of you your eyes are beholding a door in your path.
    You can’t open the door by force. Your elongated appendages, unique
"The door shudders slightly, clambering like a nervous blade of grass before the first frost, and soon enough it freezes and splinters. Shattering, it breaks into bristled stakes of wood as you walk through in abounded footsteps."


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"laugh
simply smile
that is why he makes others smile
to validate his existence."


i rememberi like to get drunk
alone
because if i'm alone
i can feel self righteous
ly angry at you
even though you
have been gone for years.
i bet you never think
of me,
i bet your life is fine
and you're busy
making someone believe
you're deep and
complicated,
troubled water
tumbling beneath
bridges.
i bet you don't know that
when people remind me
of you i collapse
like a star, inward
and curse
myself for being so weak
for being so small
for the salt on my cheeks
from the way that you spoke.
we were friends for so long
that i can't believe
how it all came out
in the wash,
and how unclean it still feels,
and how i'll never forget
how it felt then
and how i've removed
you from every corner,
swept you up
and tossed you away
from the part of me
that can never forgive you--
the part of me
that you said you loved.
"i bet you don't know that
when people remind me
of you i collapse
like a star, inward
and curse
myself for being so weak"