The bed awaited each morning with joy, For we let spring spill on the sheets— Just a tad whenever we woke up. Ours weren't playdates of note, Rather daffodils unencumbered with The expectations of prickless beauty. As the cradle looked in approval, Our happy chuckles gave it purpose, Then we bloomed, unbothered and true. We appear quiet in the vastness without— but our content faces speak volumes. For the bed, the covers, and the air around shelter all core memories in this room of ours.
past time point (see note below) by juniusrapture, literature
Literature
past time point (see note below)
an alternative world branched off when a lone variable was changed and to this altered world the Snake could still re- turn to Wake Us Up and Shake the Apples free for our Refreshment..............
is it possible that in each succeeding moment we are being eaten up then shit right out a- gain and if so might that explain why a proper personal hygiene routine will only get us so far?
intensive Tune- smith Vibes run like Veins of Old with- in the Smitten Hunts- men hanging out a- MUSED beside the dear and dangling win- ter-nearing Vines.........
Goodbye, my blue sky. I see you there fading in the ash of a city forgotten; lingering over a crest of roofless houses and far beyond in the lands of half-lives. In a minute, an echo will call (all the cripples, bastards, and broken things) -- their stories are stark and forlorn like lone wolves brooding under your pall. When they howl, the evening's hue parts, to reach house to house to house; and there's no refuge for children (or beasts) under their grim and forgotten hymn. Then the bronze leaves scatter, rusting they sway to the crimson seas to cover the brave who have strayed from the comfort of your bay (alone). Here, the moon does not play any longer and the stars hold all the moments past frozen in old sorrows, and unmoving at the edge of the end, they rest.
July of '55 (see intro) by juniusrapture, literature
Literature
July of '55 (see intro)
were they well done keys you left in your car's ig- nition and why was the vehicle itself turned back toward the City and on the other side of the Bridge since you could have just as easily parked it on the South (City) side and walked out onto the Bridge from there--were you trying to make a point of some sort or were you playing some enigmatic prank (or both?) before you proceeded to cross the Bridge back not only INto but THROUGH the CITY and from there head right on south and down to Mexico with no money no friends no car and maybe nothing much left to hope for but a few more drops of freedom and a summer breeze to waft you on your fey and faerie way?
Schools of sirens sing their songs by manymasksmanyfaces, literature
Literature
Schools of sirens sing their songs
Schools of sirens sing their songs
Come sailors it won't be long,
The stewards of the sea,
Will perform their symphony
Our master the mighty sea,
Lends us power and company,
To guide you to our shore
You're ours forever more...
No you cannot row away
With the tides under our sway
We invite you to the sea,
Become one with us and see
The beauty of the deep,
Your ours to keep
We steer you to our shore
You're ours forever more
Shush now our precious sailors
With us theirs no toil or dangers,
With us, the children of the deep,
You only need to sleep
With us beneath our shore
You're ours forever more
I told him living
was driving drunk at night
without a seat belt—
the signs blurred,
the road swishing—
and that I felt like a car
with a burnt-out headlight
speeding in the dark
down curvy, narrow roads—
a wreck waiting to happen.
“So long as you get where
you need to go,” he said.
“That’s all that matters
in the end.”
And for the longest time
all I cared for
was that “end”—
the top of the mountain
the finish line
whatever the fuck—
that elusive place
where I could
say I made it.
But all I did was lose myself
and realize I prefer the journey,
in all its inebriatio
Mutagenic jeans worn out by the time
that the scene gets seen, the blink of an I.
Enact extraction of inactive facts,
in active acts, extra action attracts.
Smokey stacks smoke stacks smoking smoker's stack.
Genetic hacks hack hacking lungs in half.
Designer genes worn out (also worn out)
are worn without knowing what they're about.