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December 29, 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—


Cruithne
I hurtle through scattershot stars
secret unseen in a liquid night
silent and eternal cold
across seven centuries
my heart resounds in yours
silver-tipped fingers
like ten blind eyes
splay and seek
that core of warm
never found
past Mercury, past Mars
my orbit echoes yours
We never meet
but I return
again and again

"silver-tipped fingers
like ten blind eyes
splay and seek
that core of warm
never found"


Elegy to the Seathe autumn leaves fell—delicate, flickering in the wind—and then, the snow came just as fragile, only colder. and the whalesongs whispered from the sea, catching on the waves and capsizing in our ears. you wanted to fly away, and i—;
oh, how i wanted to disappear inside your bones. i would seep into the marrow, infesting the lymph nodes: you could soar, but you could never leave me behind. the house creaks. it creaks. the wind may well tear my soul from its foundation.
but i wouldn’t mind. no.
i could start over—take myself apart and rebuild. the snowflakes fall, and the grass looks so like glass. if i touched it, perhaps it would shatter under the sheer weight of my fingertip, like the earth. our feet sink into the freezing sand, and the wind is bitter and i am, too. it’s cold.  so, so
[rock]cold[creak]cold[creak]cold[creak]
and i can’t take it.
i’m losing it, i think. and i, i, want to hold onto something—you accidently brush my a

"but the sea still whispers. it doesn't change. it never changes. just flows into the palms of the shore and ebbs away, slipping back into itself. so, so like you. you never changed, only talked about flying, only talk—and you were all talk. i thought you would leave me behind, but you only slipped back inside yourself|myself. and i don't know who i am."


fallsnowi remember when it began, a snowflake trapped in eyelashes
waking up to find my feet cold and buried white
the window menacing as crystal fangs grow
it fell faster, stalking, none the wiser but me
as the supermarkets grew slippery
and offices turned to caves made of ice
even under the sun, an avalanche
gushing like a river, the frozen powder covered all
children and birds became paper puppets in play
how odd to see the snowpeople alive
i walked, just a ghost
as it fell, and fell
but nobody saw
and nobody cared
it's not that bad
just me and the snow
and the blizzard finally blinded me
only winter left in my mind

"gushing like a river, the frozen powder covered all
children and birds became paper puppets in play
how odd to see the snowpeople alive"


shoppingGod, I found you at a wet market in China
between a trussed up duck and some heavy hunk
of fat that was going cheap, stinking with salt and flies;
you were lying on your side, a landscape in fists and thighs
and not one of them there could moan the way you could,
that peevish bloated howl. I looked at you, slick jowls
amongst the rinds and ropes and toads, and thought
about the shops in San Francisco:
rows of jars, neat shelves and every aisle
mopped hourly, a pert teenager standing to scan
your bottles and bottles of wine--I thought about you
loitering in the toothpaste section, breathing in the gloss
and promise of it, while the long hours before close sidled
aside: beating out a pale refrain on the milk cartons,
half-drunk, arms out, shouting away the darkness
like that one toad in a tub who wouldn't run.

"rows of jars, neat shelves and every aisle
mopped hourly, a pert teenager standing to scan
your bottles and bottles of wine--I thought about you
loitering in the toothpaste section, breathing in the gloss
and promise of it, while the long hours before close sidled"


far southhere,
death comes with a swoop and a howl,
and glaciers pour their life blood
to the unfeeling ocean.
here, the space is deep
a deadfall--
the sea flat black
and frost-choked,
gasping in hisses and rattlebreaths.
swollen tides will
roam.
the breakers are hungry.

"here, the space is deep
a deadfall--
the sea flat black
and frost-choked,
gasping in hisses and rattlebreaths."


ExcusesI got the bread,
As you set the table.
Too much rain today,
Tea is running out.
I listened to the seagulls,
As you stared at the trees.
Maybe tomorrow
We could feel that way.

"I listened to the seagulls,
As you stared at the trees."


home for christmasborn wrapped in snowball fights and country air
musty church hymnals and sabbath school
he makes me hide our vices in our back room
shedding our cigars and swearwords and
alcoholic saturdays
as we putter on icy switchbacks
to the ramshackle pink house
that mustn't be tainted by
fornicators and homosexuals
(only half, we laugh)
there his mother beds us
in separate beds under
handstitched, separate quilts
and makes me miss his sweat
his nighttime mutters and
his nighttime smells
born wrapped in God-is-so-good and ten-cent tithes
on chilly pews and patriarchy
he slips a fire-warmed hand on my breast
when no one can see

"there his mother beds us
in separate beds under
handstitched, separate quilts
and makes me miss his sweat
his nighttime mutters and
his nighttime smells"


Londonthe city glows
bright copper, a scandal in
oil colours,
a luminous quivering waste
of fog and smoke.
I feel on my skin
the harsh glare of street lights,
a thick caking of
make-up, the lingering
sting
of a parting kiss.
these streets are a string
of catastrophes,
a bright orgiastic tumbling,
the future glinting red
in a wine glass.

"I feel on my skin
the harsh glare of street lights,
a thick caking of
make-up, the lingering
sting
of a parting kiss."



"But hey, at least there's an upside to this whole mess: I'm down six stone — in one case, literally! — and that godforsaken gut is gone. Go locate any statue of me, place your hand on my toga, and check out that slab of solid marble. Want to know what my big secret is?"


UntitledANNA was the cashier at sullivan's, the small, family-owned grocery at the corner of edwards and eggleton. she worked most friday nights, some sundays, and always wednesday.
today was wednesday.
from her apartment window anna perched, peering around the moss-colored curtains, her eyes large like a hawk's, always drawn, open, and alert. she flicked her gaze along andres lane, a clouded and drizzly street away from edwards, watching the people about, scattered on the street and the sidewalk like morning dew on the lawn. they were lazy and slow moving, and she watched their progress as they ambled from one end of her window to the other, where they scuffled out of sight.
beside this window, in her living room, in the recliner, she sat, there in that chair. her feet were tucked underneath her, and in her left hand she held a cup of tea with her head turned over the armchair to peer out of the window. sara sat beside her folded legs, purring incessantly, reminding anna of the vents in the a

"gary left and anna shoved the box of chips on the shelf. she was never one for potato chips, but in their yellow cellophane container she wondered why so many people ate them. perhaps it was the way they were depicted on the front of the bag, looking like gold. she knew people liked gold, liked to look at it, touch it, have it, but she also knew the chips in the bag looked nothing like the photo, and were really a pale, undesirable yellow."
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:iconhelldalgo:
Helldalgo Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
I appreciate the feature! The collection is beautiful.
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2013
:heart: no problem
Reply
:iconphotosynthetichuman:
photosynthetichuman Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2013
Beautiful pieces of work, a fine collection. Thank you very much for includng me in it.
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2013
no problem!
Reply
:iconfuzzyhoser:
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Very nice collection, man!
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2012
i had so many backed up for this week djfkldjgjkladsg it was so hard to pick.
Reply
:iconfuzzyhoser:
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Well you did a dandy job, despite the massive stress it put you under. ;P
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
glossolalias Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2012
<: i'm just great like that.
Reply
:iconfuzzyhoser:
FuzzyHoser Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
...and modest as the day is long. :sun:
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:iconvespera:
vespera Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Says my little modest mouse
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