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Literature Text
This sluice of swamp,
weed-throttled and starred
by lilies – mossed benches
lit by lichen like a night of fireworks
and the dregs of forgotten picnics
lost to sleep crumbs.
The gunfire of a diesel ticking over,
heaping sods of dry earth – teeth
polished to a gleam of blue steel
by sparked stones.
Engines row against the earth,
snarling it with mesh and acetate,
pestling stone to powder under tangerine totems
riddled like the sides of bullet-flecked tanks
straining at their hydraulic sinew.
In the ruins where we
cricked our necks,
lost in the tent of shadows
where we strung candles and
the brambles still search
over sheaves of broken bricks.
weed-throttled and starred
by lilies – mossed benches
lit by lichen like a night of fireworks
and the dregs of forgotten picnics
lost to sleep crumbs.
The gunfire of a diesel ticking over,
heaping sods of dry earth – teeth
polished to a gleam of blue steel
by sparked stones.
Engines row against the earth,
snarling it with mesh and acetate,
pestling stone to powder under tangerine totems
riddled like the sides of bullet-flecked tanks
straining at their hydraulic sinew.
In the ruins where we
cricked our necks,
lost in the tent of shadows
where we strung candles and
the brambles still search
over sheaves of broken bricks.
Literature
The Fuguist
Jonah hated Mars. He hated everything about it. Every minute he spent there he was plagued by a vague feeling of unrest: Mars was not quite foreign, not quite familiar, an endless mirage or coma dream. Maybe he was dead, and maybe this was purgatory. Sometimes he considered praying at night, asking for forgiveness, just in case, for whatever sin might have banished him there, but then he looked out over the barren, forsaken wasteland and thought his time was much better spent sleeping, or walking.
But he hated how soft the ground was, how little clouds of dust exploded under his soles with every step, and how he could turn around and see his
Literature
April's House
The man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionl
Literature
Eclipse
moon guides me
on its voyage,
night wind
goes deep,
insinuating bones
fingers as white,
tonguing
the marrow of me-
I can't shiver the
chill from my soul
as intense as
everything I feel
while there's life,
who could
sustain it
a sadness
adrift,
where it takes me
I don't know,
I don't wonder
too numb
to feel the course
moon steers-
eyes soft focus,
total eclipse
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