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this foreword.all of these things you are about to read may or may not be true. however, the important part is that I felt these things you are about to read at one point or another. I recently realized that I have a bad memory, and I think this is because I value many things other than time and repetition, which are strong attributes of accurate memory. sadly, I also have a difficult time documenting myself in a way other people will understand. this is because I do not value the right things. this may or may not be what damns me to an eternity of feeling as if I'm lying to people. and since people are all that I care about anymore, what with my mother's religion and my conscience failing me on a unilateral and total basis, this eternal damnation would be as bad as the one guaranteed to me by both my mother's religion and my conscience.
at that point in time I realize none of these things are much different from each other at all, an
my dinner tonight set my mind to wander.memory stains locations
and fragments of thought
salted eggplants sweating out the moisture
will always be you smiling in the kitchen
the morning and the plain white walls
and your lips that are kisses in my stained,
stained thought pattern.
how fitting it would be to have you wear lipstick
so you could leave me ruby red
head to toe, candy apple
and then i would never forget
the delicious lunch your mother made us
and being able to feel you sitting next to me
knowing our weekend as it truly was.
the developed photographs will be enough for my friends
but you will forever be glasses of m&m's
and the first time I watched Moulin Rouge
(and not telling you that)
and an air mattress will forever be you,
somewhere between me and sleep.
I'll be forever watching that while sitting on the carpet
that will forever be matched with the acoustic tiles
and the overactive air conditioner
that will all blend together to be holding you
in my aching arms.
a cancellation due to weather, no weeping here.some days the inside is opening
and the tendency is for short truth
memory stains locations
and the like.
the others twirl at telephone cords
and kick their drying toenail polish through the fan blade breeze
unilaterally engaging in the moderate
a flirtation or some such thing.
on only one day do the block quote soliloquys
supplicate to real effect,
and this day is crying when it isn't
whittling culture and ornate vocabulary.
when this day comes and goes
the impossible to address maturely,
such as wrist scars and back-ne
will proliferate and fill ears like cotton swabs
probing brains. the sensations of that day will
be overwhelming in their stringency.
and that day will be the only poem that ever mattered.
river rocks (ragnarok).the earth wears rivers like blankets,
felt grasses bristle on goosebump islands.
all living things deny life
as it fails them in sinking faults.
the lineage of nature coils
the tassels and tentacles
in fruition upon it
and nebula sigh in the dawn.
morning has come and galactic brooks
babble over our kissing lips
and soften their bleeding fissures,
for no blade can cut a loose string
that unravels itself with no tension-
two loose ends connected,
and matter is empty space
that feels firm
and smells of fermentation
and looks like diamonds
and tastes like the comfort of the air after rain
and sounds like the wind as it whips
above and below the bridge
where we all huddle for warmth
reality will be murdered
at the hands of a clock
and the white face
will not react
to the single blade of grass that whistles
in the void
and sips at its single drop of dew.
Scale.the snake bite has a gritty pain
fogging up peripheral;
have the birds been singing
or is iron screaming?
for the aural suffering again
the decibel readers,
the loudness of empty rooms
subsist or subsume?
bees inside blooms
with stings that can't harm
a petal, a single feather,
a leaf fallen off as
snow in june
child came home too soon
july will have gardener snakes,
sterile and sly
and the young eyes will fervently
scan the sky for erratic flights
but at some point in time
decisions must be made, boys and girls:
how heavy to be
and what is truly heavy.
the scales are pulled down in choker vines
vision is fading as jungles engulf the minds
the men of the villages upset you are out
singing songs that mean nothing
well past dinnertime
want a choice between right and wrong
between young and old
and subtle and bold
and they want to take your time,
you to take your time.
want you in bed
want you in craft
The Rape of the Senses.the unabashedly maximal
has an even juicier center
seeped and salivated from every sense.
and jabbing neon
fill back in with ranks of young soldiers
stripping bits of virgin robes
in tatters for keepsakes.
caught off guard.the hero of the epic
is the one who can
trace the veins upon the plains
and face the place that sources pain
but i am incapable,
i seek out time to spend
on the joystick, toggle that
pick me out something
nice claw machine pull back.
nickels and dimes-
the brass tax of it
getting stuck at the
back ass end of it
this thing's for real
it has me down it
keeps me stuck it
never stops on the street that i wanted
the driver wants change
but can't give it back no-no, no, no
no refund, raise the zeros
high above your head make em stop dead
i can't be a hero, no, not yet
can't find the sunset beautiful
beautiful boy, kiss me
twenty four seven the whole weekend kiss me
my mind is falling short
i left my wallet at home and the crowd goes
nickels and dimes
on bananas, loco
forty hour binges on feeling alone and
none of the alien feelings i felt for
jupiter june violet blooms are here
there's no beauty in reading the news
there's no beauty in scraping numbers
no beauty to choose
have to cho
Artifacts.nothing is more precious
than what is written about
on a typewriter
it cannot be undone
with every inky kiss
on a paper cheek
the intentions become true
and put parents on an orphan planet
that's taking care of itself well enough
just settled into being alone
just now able to hide under cloud cover
from telescopes puncturing the surface
with needle sharp lines of sight
you deserve to have secrets
prospectors have drilled you
and you feel low on fuel
because it was burnt away
in a greedy engine that you felt gave you meaning
like life might for earth
now that he's gone the air seems to be
diffused with noxious shadows in your depressions
and valleys and empty caves he carved in your core
this is why I fear putting roots here
with you: the dawn fears bringing the morning
to a decayed city and the plant fears exhausting
the over-farmed and still fragile soil
but you're the only good thing I've got
no ecosystem, no ocean so intricate
you are lace, torn lace
but you'll never
Still Water Layering.Alluvial plain,
how can you be both of these?
I feel spent and wandering
over your geography,
trying not to leave canyons
by thinning my flow
but I fear emptying myself
when I've only loved you
and you've want me whenever
'whatever' I'd like.
Well I'd like you, I want you
more than you want me;
the horizon's where your eyes will be
staring down from gleaming towers
and I will face you instead of sunset.
I've missed everything and cannot hold form
but you smile the way it is and tell me
no complaints can mix us.
I never knew that I would ever be a tributary
since I've swerved deftly through mountains
of silent time and begging weed
and I deserve to be proud of my span
but I feel our damned fork coming
and silt and sand my banks are broken.
You make me feel worthless, but necessary
and then half-loved and side show
and I'd say I love you nonetheless
but I hate you too for not returning to me
all my fertile sediments.
That's when I sob in your shower
this final grain of sen
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More