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December 22, 2012
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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 :+fav: this journal and read the other works. now, onto the main event—


Wisdom     In the spring of life
     I explored the peaks,
     The swelling hills and cols
     Whose lower slopes are clothed
     In soft fragrant herbage.
     
     Now with autumn in my bones
     A sweeter empathy I feel
     Among more gentle wolds and dells
     Where soul and body intertwine
     In mutual joy and ecstasy.

"Now with autumn in my bones
A sweeter empathy I feel
Among more gentle wolds and dells
Where soul and body intertwine"



"I will be the crazy lady who keeps 23 geckos
and gives them names like Hibiscus and Hyacinth,
Cadbury and Cappuccino, and writes poetry with
a gecko named Peaches perched on top of my head"


Note To SelfTruth is, I don't know anymore.
Every string, unwinding, unweaving.
The unlikely demise of a tapestry.
The tapestry.
My tapestry.
I'd like to remind you of… well, a lot of things.
Everything.
Everyone.
And I'm sorry, but there's no theme.
No message to be had.
These are just words.
I am just words.

"I'd like to remind you of… well, a lot of things.
Everything.
Everyone."



"On my lunch break today, I went down to the cemetery and sat there for just a bit. I picked the dead leaves off of your grave that fell from that dogwood at your feet. Surely the spot I've come to sit at will feel more like your porch come Spring time, but I don't see it feeling like home. No, ma'am, I don't have a bit of faith in that. I don't have faith in much of anything, really. I don't know if I just never found God or if He never found me, or if He's no more than a really well developed character in the most toted around book of all time. Still, I'm not a God-fearin' woman, by any means."


Fever DreamSometimes in dreams
I watch the woods
fill up with snow
as did Frost.
And I pose myself the
question, what would be
the cost
of leaving behind the city's lights
and vitality
to join with nature and shun
humanity
but just to think such things
brings a shiver
these are just idle thoughts
like those of Miniver
For who am I to change
the road that's been given
is fate the only thing
we should believe in?

"these are just idle thoughts
like those of Miniver
For who am I to change
the road that's been given"


in my sister's carSitting in my sister's overcrowded car, amongst depressed and withered chip packets, and long forgotten jackets rung around with stringy, unhappy fur.
My fingers and lips are stained, sticky, multicoloured - redyellowgreenbluepurple from the rainbow coloured candy cane I'm sucking. It tastes sugary, false, and despite the slippery saccharine of my saliva it has turned my mouth into dryness that longs for water. Yet somehow this candy cane is real, and grounding, and visceral. It brings me back to my childhood, and I like the nudging reminder that I am a person with my past behind me.
Music swells. That is real. I close my eyes against the harsh gold of oncoming sunset, let it permeate and redden its way through my eyelids. That is real, too.
I need reality now, I need candy canes and Coldplay and sunsets. My mind feels lost, disconnected - illness lingers, and my brain has not yet learnt to see. I cannot remember ever seeing properly, but I must have once, because all my life I

"Music swells. That is real. I close my eyes against the harsh gold of oncoming sunset, let it permeate and redden its way through my eyelids. That is real, too."


Cattle GraveyardThere are bones scattered in the grasses,
gray and faded, hidden between scrubs
and pricker bushes.
The summer air is thick in my throat
as I dig for bone treasures, a jaw,
a femur; if I'm lucky, I'll find an intact spine,
vertebrae still hanging together like a silver bracelet.
The coyotes live in a cluster of trees across the field,
restless as they wait for the next death
from infection in the lungs, fever, old age.
The last one to die was Railey, and she's
over by the oasis, her hide stretched thin over opalescent bones
picked clean by the buzzards circling
like puppets on wires above my head.
Their shadows on the ground before me are hallucinogens,
dizzying me for the hunt as I stumble
toward thick-boned skulls to mount on my bedroom wall.
Once, I believed they came here to die,
knew to lay down with their late kin;
I know now the rancher and his boy drag the carcasses
far from the barn and main house
to keep the coyotes at bay.
My father tells me the cattle mourn their dead,
the

"Once, I believed they came here to die,
knew to lay down with their late kin;
I know now the rancher and his boy drag the carcasses
far from the barn and main house
to keep the coyotes at bay."


:thumb343279862:
"18. i slipped on ice, and you cradled
bruises in your arms   you cradled bruises
you cradled bruises on my arms"


windstorms and labworkafflatus, inflatus, my morning globe,
as lithe as your impermanence.
and home! dread homes! are rabbit dugs,
spoonholed piles of mexican brick
where nothing ever touches down,
nothing here alive receives
the plains’ poor offering of gypsy light,
the ugly wind that meets the mudline.
[metaphors]
1. a mottled fence
2. and how these storms hold faceless teeth
that slat their eyes through butter-wood
then purge their guts on wintered florets
4. some freshly headless nativities,
their polyethylene skirts upturned
from violent sacks
5. and knowing i’m a souless
speck
             i lick at what is manifest
        beneath your hair
   each poison tab
a colour
acid
fire
  or lake
     a brothel
         and religious studies
i know, i know you never mean
to murder
or complete
me
but do not say “live for yourself”.
i’ve come online to see the god
that came before me.
we are so poorly married
like bookend spines of Plath and Hughes
up on the shelf
are somehow
synon

"[metaphors]
1. a mottled fence
2. and how these storms hold faceless teeth
that slat their eyes through butter-wood
then purge their guts on wintered florets
4. some freshly headless nativities,
their polyethylene skirts upturned
from violent sacks
5. and knowing i'm a souless
speck"


:thumb343929759:
"No, now I am
laundry baskets and
accordion files, my
ribs lined up neatly in place. you cannot
call me a skeleton now."
Add a Comment:
 
:iconnocturnejewel:
NocturneJewel Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2012
Thank-you so very much for the feature! :hug:
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2012
not a problem!
Reply
:iconmeggie272:
Meggie272 Featured By Owner Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the feature, I am very flattered! :love:
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Dec 23, 2012
not a problem :heart:
Reply
:iconmeggie272:
Meggie272 Featured By Owner Dec 23, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:sushi: have some sushi in return for this wonderfully kind deed - unless you do not like sushi in which case :cake:
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Dec 23, 2012
haha, sushi works.
Reply
:iconfuzzyhoser:
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Yes'sir, you got some keepers in here.
Thanks for having mine in with this fine lot. :heart:
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2012
not a problem :heart:
Reply
:iconthetaoofchaos:
thetaoofchaos Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2012   Writer
Thank you for the feature! It's an honor to be chosen among all these other great pieces.
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2012
not a problem!
Reply
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