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- Sep 9, 2009
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I have a literary side too, god!
I've been taking a break from drawing (my hands, they bleed!) so I rummaged up some old and new poetry. Be warned, my stuff is usually free-verse and full of I*spooky voice* cryptic mettaapphooorr! (some of the poems use 'i' instead of 'I'. I dunno, adds to the effect or something.)
Also, I don't even know what I'm talking about in half this shit.
I Rotting onion skins and melting snow
in this tiny little bin
filled with broken ash and paper thin dreams
consumed by their sorrows so long ago
that delve deep into thick cut logs in forest thickets
consumed by growing blackness
the oceans consume the fissuring rocks
that crack along the shores
where seaweed mingles with the flesh of old
on the banks of never more
where sticks and weeding bones
protrude from the gamy mud banks
and plumbodied seagulls dive for shining rocks
gutters swollen with rain pour upon honey hair
wind and fire meet exhaling breaths as the sun
rises against an eastern shore
torn between a lucid dream
she does not remember it any more.
II A haunting murmur rattles through my joints
It is silenced in this screaming room.
In the darkness, you can see oneself,
Mirrored in the infinite blackness some call heaven.
III i swam in the river the other day
and you looked at me while fingering smooth rocks
i dove in the sparkling water
and emerged with thrushweed hair
"if i hold my breath, will i grow gills?"
i asked
you look at me and you twitch your mouth
"no," you reply "the mermaids will hang your teeth from their necks."
IV this city is built on iron-strung lies
you say as you crush a twig under footfall
i frown and kick dusty pebbles
the lights of the street are shining with a chilly pain
like ethereal anesthetic
i look to you again with shining slits for eyes
in a broken dream i will wring your neck
with my dirty hands
and wipe them upon my bloodstained frock
but i smile and kick miniscule rocks
that seem to be part of a bigger plan
I've been taking a break from drawing (my hands, they bleed!) so I rummaged up some old and new poetry. Be warned, my stuff is usually free-verse and full of I*spooky voice* cryptic mettaapphooorr! (some of the poems use 'i' instead of 'I'. I dunno, adds to the effect or something.)
Also, I don't even know what I'm talking about in half this shit.
I Rotting onion skins and melting snow
in this tiny little bin
filled with broken ash and paper thin dreams
consumed by their sorrows so long ago
that delve deep into thick cut logs in forest thickets
consumed by growing blackness
the oceans consume the fissuring rocks
that crack along the shores
where seaweed mingles with the flesh of old
on the banks of never more
where sticks and weeding bones
protrude from the gamy mud banks
and plumbodied seagulls dive for shining rocks
gutters swollen with rain pour upon honey hair
wind and fire meet exhaling breaths as the sun
rises against an eastern shore
torn between a lucid dream
she does not remember it any more.
II A haunting murmur rattles through my joints
It is silenced in this screaming room.
In the darkness, you can see oneself,
Mirrored in the infinite blackness some call heaven.
III i swam in the river the other day
and you looked at me while fingering smooth rocks
i dove in the sparkling water
and emerged with thrushweed hair
"if i hold my breath, will i grow gills?"
i asked
you look at me and you twitch your mouth
"no," you reply "the mermaids will hang your teeth from their necks."
IV this city is built on iron-strung lies
you say as you crush a twig under footfall
i frown and kick dusty pebbles
the lights of the street are shining with a chilly pain
like ethereal anesthetic
i look to you again with shining slits for eyes
in a broken dream i will wring your neck
with my dirty hands
and wipe them upon my bloodstained frock
but i smile and kick miniscule rocks
that seem to be part of a bigger plan
