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The Age of the Wasp.There is heavy noise
in the other room and my head
bounces full of heavy
heavy weighted things
that I wish I could tell
I know or knew. The building
feels flatter and flatter
beneath my tired shoes
and I release air with difficult
pushes out into the still gentle a/c that
tickles over my arms, a goodbye from fair
weather, a rattling doorknob. I kissed
you and then,
for a different goodbye lightly
brushed my hand on your face and neither
could have kept me warmer. I will always
be in the twilight even if the sun somehow stopped
the earth and returned me back
to June, to the hopping / hotel rooms and the / rippling island of sidewalks
and dirt paths. the secret green heart I heard shaking its
own trees against the sheet glass
only grew for a time of honeybees and its now
the age of the wasp.
I am stingers and fear in others
and myself. I die on the window
and the death at all points
afterward will need to be cleaned
Fragment 2conventional development of a memorial out of bland symbolism and a "contemporary" sensibility involving phallic steel work + endless dematerializing glass or untreated raw roman concrete like the effigy we were too self obsessed to set on fire we were saving for the long absent libido
SonarHonestly don't know
Where the Hell is
Our light house, stood up
On fallacies of rocky coasts
Awaiting night time liners.
We turn days, years over
Nights that swim thoughts
With wading tidepools
And deep ends oceans old,
Unspecific. Past points
In existence where photons whir
To silhouette Earth's tumbling
Light houses stood up like pins
At lane ends, each of us
Soon ricocheted, collapsed into
Honestly don't know
Where the light house
We eyed with curious fear
A serpent more afraid and prostrate
Than us, than its cobra raise
Or rattle might entail, a tower made
Derelict by global position
The Elderly.cover the elderly in flowers
and go ahead and give them their architecture
their hollowed fluted columns covered in vine
ivy vines and corinthian florets and vegetal
give them doors. closing and opening at their focus
and at their "remember the opening of
the memorial highway?" how they could now
borrow suzie's husband's pickup any old saturday
and be there in half the time
to the endless heaven of open marketplace
can buy anything there
in a peace of mind haven treehouse in the blood
jungles spilt nectar and flies all about
just let the elderly have the joy
infants get coming in
with comfy strollers and
expectant children. with colors
marketed to them and a shower thrown
when the date is set to celebrate
the going out, the deathday
it was not planned, but it was in course
so let the abandoned asphalt fill its cracks
with lemongrass and resilient roots
sing joy to every pillar in its rise or its fall
the presence marked until the marker's overgrown
You Asked for Even More.Here is all I can give
Today the blank hedge of clouds
Pitter-pattered out of the room
On toddler's sticky feet--
Did you ever guess how incomplete
The breathless moments of ardor
Might be?? I labored over the black
Cauldron of love & being
In crimson love with pretending
Do the flags flap around like so?
Or was I without comparison,
Hindered by my blood & sexless
Indecision, my steps not sobered
Not drunk enough yet
Not to say regret out loud
Or to scrape the bottom of the trash
Bag for rancid sicknasty leftovers
Of the clouds prickling behind our kissing
Necks, stretched and strained
Out for the next guillotine raindrop
Lost our heads out of respect
For the cage fight we held between us
The crowds battering the bars
Pouting, snotty lovechildren.
Trajectory EchoesI cannot lose what I have lost,
I’m forced to apple bob
For sinking fruit, dense in vinegar.
Deeper in the barrel,
Until I’m the bullet that makes it clean through.
I still land on the floor,
Ripple my skin until it is metal
Screaming in the night time
Into and back out of the sweaty adolescent basements below.
I won’t make it to the phone
Until I’m retconned
Until a different sentence rattles chains in my chest
Until momentum, until no more
I will always slide toward the valley
In the winter, and feel it coming
Right around Halloween. The horror
Of one year ago: me, being happy and in love
While over one million rotten apples sit in the grass,
The rectangular orchard. The columns and rows.
The perfect was lost well before I had it,
Before it left ribcages and winked
Like the hero through the first set of unlocked lips.
Credits roll and I fiddle with plotholes
To calm the richter of my (I once thought)
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
To the BeautifulYou say we're beautiful,
Us who have been bullied...
But where were you while it was happening?
-I was watching-
You who say "This has to stop!",
There needs to be an end to this...
What are you doing to stop it?
-I did nothing-
It's too late now...
-I failed you-
of me and youthe day you stopped touching me was the day i
stopped speaking to myself. and the silence nearly killed me
LuckyYou talk like you always have a grain of salt,
to throw over your shoulder.
Every word is that hard cheese,
and they swing those whimsical wishbones much like carousels.
You're wasted on your self-image,
staggering down with rigorousness you don't own.
They're taking that steed and throwing horseshoes,
as if one of them might ring 'round your neck;
and save you from yourself.
You'll need a necropolis filled with pennies to barter,
and we won't lend a cent to save your sorry soul.
Your demons count clovers to kiss you,
gluing that fourth leaf to camouflage the truth.
They'd promise you an elephant to watch you die,
sucking sevens to keep you from entering Heaven.
And you can sing your superstitions into space,
but it's dead and empty.
Somewhat like the hollow shell you lounge in,
as the charms make you see spirits.
You say somewhere there's a rabbit dying to give its foot in your favor...
...but don't bet on it unless you can see that whites of its eyes.
Our Weight and RopesYour life, little flower
like a snake
from a can
lungs not ready
you hit the air
it hit you
months too early
this life on earth
and its lightning
hit and burnt
nothing about you
was anywhere near
and ever so luckily
your wings were
slow to form too
as it was all
we could do
were barely enough
to keep you
from floating away
pulled back inside
and years later
we're the ones
kringle.should i be smiling as the christmas tree shrinks?
america's sistine chapel full of fat basketball angels
absolution in six easy payments of twenty five ninety nine.
should i feel shame that jesus is in a survival backpack
for the next apocalypse? it's miniature and mother is
sharing videos of soldier presents.
drop the faithless adolescent bomb over a dead bird feast.
winter's in a dead heat with loneliness
and i'm drawing a finish line
but even sharpies fade with skin.
i'm peeling off my wrapping your gift is entrails.
sorry i don't pour water like a fountain.
hot piss on the black friday mailers.
should i be worried about should when i live in the
united states of hedonism? i am the godless one
but its easy to be a jesus freak and still listen to lil wayne.
should i try to understand the twisting that snow brings
to arthritic fingers clutching remote controls
like scepters to thrones?
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More