|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
achingly so. “sea,” you could say
and between each crest I would see
your eyes slivers of lashes, downturned.
CRACKLING MOON VISIBLE
ON THE EASTERN SEABOARD,”
I see tick below talkshow.
here is an imagined forecast
clear skies, scattered stargazers
until dawn milks the dulcet night
sore from crystal sugar deposits
centuries accumulated in your mouth
is this shore like the moon or the horizon
do you know?) in the corners,
ruby gums, shining cavities likely
this evening when a low pressure front
locates the pliers for loosening
another dream of pearls in a whirlpool,
of the summer hail plinking windows finally
overwhelming the clatter of my falling teeth—
the weatherman I elect to be
on the drive to the windy city
removes his tie and suit to bask
in the unique dark of his childhood
until then, the spaces between
skin, sheets, the carpet fibers
and the bottom of the door
where a strip of light rests
April.i. modern sensory.
one: hoop earring shimmers
deep in the cut of city light
as she stands the chill of thin
fabrics, the other just sang
thru the slats, clinked off the top
of the subway car below her feet, passing;
day gone by in best threads
and ten triple C tablets; look
she gets from all passers-by of her
in cold, in a dress, high… the one
that increases intensity with each
wrinkle under the eye; and echoing
thought of mother, reminding how
many zeros were in the cost
of the last pair of heels daughter
stole and wore, then ruined or lost while out.
two strikes: of middle class protesters
over prime sidewalks that have led to
noteworthy deaths; of proverbial lightning
in the same underground tunnel (her golden hoop lands just feet
from the band of a man who didn’t end up
marrying his fiance, a story of similar weight
to the aforementioned [but future tense] tale
of Tanya’s, it goes like so: Jerome met Idris
at a sit-in where J wore a fitted jacket and
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
When Stars CollapseThis is how you bespeckled my bones
with bewilderment: you kissed hushed heart
whispers and slumbering secrets
into my fingertips. You infused awe
into my joints, causing me
to ask how snowflakes got their
shape and how long would it take
to get from the Sun to Capella.
You taught me that energy is neither
created or destroyed; stars do not die.
Eyes washed with emerald sorrows you
told me that they evolve, they change
into something entirely different,
or not so different.
I now know we are made of the same
particles as someone or something else.
We began someplace together.
We're made of so much more than "star-stuff",
we are made of each other.
two.send messages in their
little notes that
i love you.
i miss you.
where have you gone.
and i'll take them,
fill them up with
send them back, across
to the other side.
i'll send you a postcard...
wish you were here.
because i'm not coming back.
fil(l)edthey chipped away at you,
clasping you tight with
ceramic grasps and art class
filing you down,
filling you up;
trying to make you
they gasp, reflect
edit, edit, edit,
unmask your already
for the sake of perfection
in hale exhalations.
lurks a step from
and you're not quite sure
whether their machinations,
their clutching neophiliac
search for the ideal
has made you greater
I liveI live
At least for now
Life is cruel
But I keep surviving
Hoping for a better world
letter to a birdthe last of the rooks comes into view
swaying in trash bag
meaning when it lands the leaves
will have to get up and change colour
but if it never does.
to keep traversing this shifting
it’s been a long road trip and you drink
and it numbs your heart
and it tastes like cinnamon
doesn’t mean that you don’t
if you land, i’ll morph
out of this household
to replace you,
pour into the desk
The Breaths Between Usi'm minutes away
from the collision site
the breaths between us
and the lost time
clock guts, sprung
our hallway uncoils
his walnut lean
i'm seconds away
from the before
of our near-miss
the beads of air
and the imperfections of
in a rumored heart
a stuttering mass
this broken belled
has lost hold
of the lives we live
its skullsong rings
the same vibration
I am me. Who are you?I am fragments
of every person
I've met; every
memory made; every
bond formed and tie broken.
I am an orchestra
of people's opinions;
each snide comment
each casual remark
each passing compliment
I am a library
of forgotten lies
and fake smiles
and empty promises.
I am a sky of hope;
filled with stars
which carry the wishes
of the people I have encountered
I am never alone
for their influence will forever
taint my soul and
remind me of their hopes,
dreams and pain.
This is who I am.
Who are you?
Love comes in so many forms,
growing and changing swiftly with the ages.
A mama recording her sons first walk to her husband over seas with a shaky camera.
"It's only a storm," the big brother says to his sister whiles he takes out the instant hot chocolate.
A teenager opening her slammed door, ready to admit to her parents she doesn't hate them.
On a worn blanket, a college kid handing his boyfriend a rose, hoping it will be enough.
Girls squealing as they throw their diplomas up into air and go out into the real world together.
A father proudly patting his wife's baby bump, a first miracle.
A women kissing her father goodbye as she turns off the machine that keeps him alive.
A middle aged chemistry teacher handing back a failing student a A+ paper.
An older couple holding hands, content with the knowledge of the mountains they've overcome together.
Love extends past the page, from my hand into others souls.
leash.I am a homosexual with three pet dogs.
One came home with my mom from work;
the front leg already broken and amputated.
A mystery shih-tzu, large for her breed,
now hops through my house many years later
arthritis, cataracts, and rotten teeth.
She may never die, may she never die;
her crooked spine and visible ribs
may make her whine and snore,
but every guest loves her novelty.
The next is mine, a beagle from
a large puppy mill, who did not know
grass, ceiling fans, or people.
She craves love almost as much as food.
Spayed too soon she filled out fatter
than her hips could always move.
She cannot jump into my high bed.
She is soft and my hands will pet at her
as she trembles to lick my skin.
She is patient and kind, but steals
socks and the other dogs' food;
What favorites for good behavior often do.
The last followed me home on a sweaty summer hike.
Her breed was unknown, exotic and new to me
with shining black fur and golden eyes blinking.
I closed my front door on her that d
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More