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thoughtsaw/separatorloners are disgraceful/nobody in that room knows a thing about duty/there's a disorder for everything/a scoopful of hospital/much like gaps are sewn up with terrorism threats/anyone can be towed to clean acceptable bay/with shaved heads and soft-boiled skins
nobody protests here nor will they mop up the spilled yolks/don't look westward mad angel/home is not where a dead embryo of anger tops the cocktail/harmless you have holes in your palms
a portrait of the young man as an islandin the submarine cellar
under layers of steel and styrofoam
in the breeding tank
the seed of contempt hardens
one day i will cease to give off excuses
the fragrance of their petals will fold into linoleum
and insect repellent
have you been apologizing again into what
confessional the priest only needs sumbmission maintenance of
flickering screen of superhuman status
i have realized this construction is a construction
hold my breath it'll topple over soon enough
no divine intervention required.
drag away the skin mask,
the strand of gum as a farewell flag. the reality is this:
anhedonic reptile. hull of the hydrogen carri
politely decliningyou can't stay in the pigeon coop forever.
you can't keep dozing in the sun
or land straight into goldfish beating like lightbulb hearts.
your hair will get into your eyes as
sooner or later, you will have to
an invitation to jump
the unspoken terms of contract
walk cashless into the world
offer your hard floor to strangers
be their home to come to
fend for yourself
keep your guard up
keep the roseships tucked in your breastpocket
retain the vision of pine cones dissected in a drop of honeydew
maintain the balance of electrolytes
feign plucking feathers to sniff soothing oils
keep the forests close to heart
to unroll the mat of herbs to sleep
with the wolves when the other departs
keep your guard up
what you want is to dive,
limbs spread in a pentagram of aster,
till hair is floating like a clump of weeds on the soapy surface.
to land in fetal position,
(-fall into the f
humdrumtownfive o'clock middle of nowhere tea,
he poked reality with an unloaded rifle,
roadkill doe; the sheet slid off
the flanks; in his
life he had never been so awfully
a strange sensuality in the sunset
"it's a dead animal, you know"
well, he would never go that far;
not as far as admitting he was
wrong - therefore,
heavy odour of rotting would never
turn to incense,
deer-legged Mary would never
bless him with a kick in the ass,
he'd be confined to
burning down houses, greasy fingers -
the sad cop-outs of
five o'clock middle of nowhere funerals.
-lightning boiled my frontal lobes
i can feel it
dripping down my cheekbones,
no-longer-neurons, an ejaculation
uncertain rooted in unthought
define boundaries; far as the eye can see
but no further and sigh complacently
no more bumping into buzzing barbed wire
no protection (all shields down)tripped our way past the cursed hurdles
bound now. on my knees now,
lighltly probing my broken jaw.
it's not what it seemed.
end of the platform, i reached your hand and the floor tiles spun-
a meager reward.
never enough to feed the stray dogs.
children discover sex; (we see) vacuities mulitply, multiplying,
we're sleeping on scaffolding;
there is no place for us in this world
tossing and turning on crushed glass;
the dogs will call and take me back to
the comfort of my arm-gnawing psychosis:
for you there will be no consolation,
no wet cloth to soothe your swollen lips.
coldness, coldness everywhere
not any drop to -
i grab you in my bony arms.
you liveyou thought you were about to die,
seized with sudden thirst
so you gripped the leather
all the while you were looking out of the window,
blue screen of - you know, - errant
-maybe we have forgotten the way
a screwdriver swallow
burrows its way through the air,
stammering and frothing towards some cosmic Death,
there are sandbags to be tossed,
there are animals to be drowned,
there is a liquidity to sadness
but no words to explain
rib-in, rib-out -
the flight attendant brought a glass of
water; the sky was still blue.
you imagined the mountains
you imagined the whistling of a leaky heart
but if you learn control and self-
like the hostile blue...
there was a speck of dust on
things left unsaidyou have no skin, your
body is a slick, oily surface,
an ashtray, a magnet, spit
in the puddle down
cigarette alley butts -
curiosity and lack of discernment,
an idle mind: a terrible,
brilliant grinder flashing
and you waddle
out into the street
to the squelching of rainwater.
and how can i tell you
that some pull out of the battle
and some fight a losing one but others
simply lose, never having made a move
towards the tank surface, when in the floodlights
your future is laid out before you: sewage water
up to knee level as you disappear
noiselessly without leaving a grudge or a note
down black hill.
you will forget the lightyou will forget the light because it is ghost and
useless in a white room
these abstractions are warm, flaky, fresh from the oven
but they cannot be touched,
worn or violated. is that it.
what you found endearing you'll find infuriating,
the line between charming and diseased will be whittled away
into a line of ashes on the windowsill and your elbows will hurt.
the surrender to the stubble of uniform grey.
you will forget because aching bones. and things.
and come to the seaside barefoot but it means nothing. to you.
the breeze, too, you will forget
because in its meandering it doesn't roar what is it compared to the
fresh hit of a torn tendon.
and the stench of rotting seaweed, and the death rattle of the pelican
won't scare you. they won't scare you because it
invasionmy hands are sticky with enamel
skimmed off doors that lead to the
quiet, dusted memory vaults i keep
beneath the house. i had kept them beside
the refrigerator until now but you made me
nervous when you picked at the locks
and the handles began to turn. i spent a
summer with my nerves laid out on the
kitchen floor until they were so raw that
i could feel the dust settling around me
like it was the end of the world. later, after
we had had sex for the second time and
you went home, i bundled up my nervous
system and packed it into my pocket and one
by one, i pushed the vaults down the stairs
and out into the basement. they slid down and
out, a cacophony of steel infants released from
their crowded womb, each one bigger than
the last. they laid themselves against the wall,
steel soldiers with new limbs and old blood, and
watched me weep. tomorrow, you will ask me
where they have gone and i will lie. i will
tell you that death came in the middle of the night
and woke me with her breathin
Muon neutrinoSome number of days
become one: a thought bound together
by the number of pills I took, 12 on Wednesday,
you forgot Thursday, when God lets his head rest
a blackhole forms,
and you ask for your poems back.
Maybe I took a reflection gold like yours,
a few back hairs, the phone you bought, a German market,
your accent, but my hand was possessed:
I spun a new era,
knocked around plastic bottles
and shattered a dropper. My lines were perfect,
nothing like the fizzy bits of an atom,
when your car never started,
a roach on the nightstand,
my eye imploded,
but I send my poems back.
The ones on napkins, dollars, candy wrappers,
unduplicated sinews of sex, laughter,
or just an amphetamine,
You were always better. And better
is impossible to swallow,
light's always faster,
and when God blinks,
tremblingmaybe i should ask
you for a lifetime,
she said with
her palms dangling,
neck dangling, toes
tipping over themselves
like she was the pervasive
product of a sad, crumpled
maybe i should ask
you for, at least,
a summertime, she said,
this time circling with
black, slick, meteors
for eyes. i didn't care-
supernova or end of the
world, i'd tear myself
apart just to be at
her center. i'd
blue blood running
thin- i'd destroy
maybe i should ask
you for my name back.
maybe i should ask
you for some space.
maybe i should ask
you for some fucking
company when i'm alone
and i can't face
anyone else. maybe
i should introduce
you to my mother.
maybe i should peel
your skin and blow your cover.
maybe i should
time, she said.
i'd give it,
oh man, would i give it.
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,
it's more of a hurricane than a fire
since he broke in & burned
but sometimes I see her with a lighter
& she finishes what he didn't do
(I think she's afraid
of settling in,
but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights on
to frighten away the bridges & the people
so no one will come inside
& smash the teacups, steal the pipes
because since he burnt her beds out
no one lives there anymore
some things you have to figure out yourselfsleep is creeping past
two holes in heavy eyes
rips my mind from my thoughts,
the muddy rib from my side
you in the aisle of wal-mart
writing Jesus under
pretense of a hallmark card
"what's a stone without a sinner,
a sin without a stoner?"
question: which is worse-
the need or the donor?
because we, unequivocally,
have excelled at ripping all
of the fruit from all of the
trees. your eyes are open,
they are viewing, but they
do not see
and do you see
what i mean? do you
even see me
a snip, a crush, two sniffs-
i need you, i need this
you are beautiful and i am hungry,
but i can't take what you won't give.
(the need and the donor)
which is worse:
the deliberate lie or the Judas kiss?
i am starting to understand
that i can't have
i love you, standing strong and
standing tall, but how much
do i love you if i
curse you when you
we have been conquerors of everything,
and keepers of nothing.
Being Okay Is The Hardest Thing We DoBeing Okay Is The Hardest Thing We Do
because being okay is expected,
if we’re not okay, that’s not okay,
what can we do to be okay?
we can scribble illegible words
on a canvas made for by painters
masquerading as notebook paper,
and hope that we can sell the burn
of stinging emotions for some paper.
but the funny thing about that thought?
is that american money isn’t paper,
it’s 75% cotton and 25% linen fibers.
so even the money you'd earn from your misery,
isn't anything you can write on
when you realize your money isn't
made to heal. even if it does talk.
but it never really ever says enough, does it?
But that's okay...
being okay is the hardest thing we do
because sticks and stones do break bones,
but you can hide the scars
with a jacket or longer sweatshirt.
or put on pants as opposed to athletic shorts.
words kill, words heal, and words are so much more.
and you can't hide the scars that riddle your face,
the way your
torn paperin the heat of reason
what the hell
am i doing have i really tried
to reduce you to 'sizzling whale oil
in the lightbulb of your bird-on-a-wire self-esteem'
and 'your want of justice is a diamond
in the rough corroded by mortality'
you who checks my breath for honesty
you my alcoholic breath my only response
i mean -
war orcas bite their steel reins to be drowned
in these silences.
if only you knew
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More