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Literature Text
He unwinds his nerves,
And chews on them like strands of hair.
She scratches through her skin with acrylic nails
Digging for something solid where the exes mark the spots.
She never hits bone.
They make eye contact for a second,
And both double back with scratched corneas.
In Mexico, it is the day of the dead
A broke-ass kid wears a mask with our hero's face.
Back in Pittsburgh,
He used to wear long sleeves in the the warm autumn.
Now it is August,
And he is piling on overcoats.
Anything to cover the scars on his sharp shoulderblades
From melted wax wings.
There's holes in his heels and he can't tell you why
He can try, but all apologies
Sink like sulfur down his esophagus
The only thing about our hero that's rising
Is the bile in his throat.
And chews on them like strands of hair.
She scratches through her skin with acrylic nails
Digging for something solid where the exes mark the spots.
She never hits bone.
They make eye contact for a second,
And both double back with scratched corneas.
In Mexico, it is the day of the dead
A broke-ass kid wears a mask with our hero's face.
Back in Pittsburgh,
He used to wear long sleeves in the the warm autumn.
Now it is August,
And he is piling on overcoats.
Anything to cover the scars on his sharp shoulderblades
From melted wax wings.
There's holes in his heels and he can't tell you why
He can try, but all apologies
Sink like sulfur down his esophagus
The only thing about our hero that's rising
Is the bile in his throat.
Literature
Volpi.
You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see t
Literature
the flower club
dear preacher,
i've got something to admit
last sunday
i was in the field
i was watching the flowers get dressed
well they're just so pretty naked
petals tucked into their sides
and watching them unfold
i was watching them pull down the sunrise
and put it on themselves
so i'm a sinner for it
cause i watched them bathe, too
stand around together in the shower
a hundred ladies in their beautiful skins
pink small ones
big blue proud ones
letting the droplets collect and residue
on their finery and shamelessly bare leaves
well that's my confession preacher
i watch the flowers strip and tease
Literature
She Was With the Stars
The amber girl
was preserved perfectly
and her silky hair and porcelain skin
gleamed like a doll's
But the scientists weren't able to keep
her soul burning
because though she was in the
glass case filled with chemicals and fluids
and they were desperately trying to pump
oxygen into her lungs,
her mind was still up in space
with the stars
So the sun was extinguished
despite the cries and mournful screams
because they had
broke her
and the many who looked up
at her light and glory
slowly began to rot away
And so not a single thing was solved
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I fell from two pedestals yesterday and broke some shit on the way down.
© 2011 - 2024 ThermadorianGrey
Comments6
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This is awesome in the original sense of the word. Every line you've written here carries a very heavy weight and creates a clear cut image in my mind as I read it, which is amazing. I've had to read it three times now to try and collect my thoughts on why it's so fantastic, but I'm coming up short. The imagery is unique and visceral, the tone is dry but in the perfect way, and I'm in love with "They make eye contact for a second,
And both double back with scratched corneas."
Great work.
And both double back with scratched corneas."
Great work.