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tiny vesselsgod cried for us that afternoon
on the rocks, if I could be so
selfish; you had your hands
grasping at my empty vapors before
I’d had the chance to whisper
to you. I see you
shaking. I know you’re
hungry and I know
the temperature of your
eyes when you lie. you
said you were lonely.
half-truths are the essence
of symbiotic relationships, your
fingers trailing along my hips,
glacier blue eyes holding me
still. the rapids churned. god
cried for me that afternoon.
he was selfish, too.
sunshine shakingmorse code upon collarbones and
sun-bleached smiles. she
wasn't ready. she wasn't ready.
he had open arms like
the song about the london bridge;
chlorine baptized him a new
man. innocent, innocent,
what did you see
when you kissed her? the
pearls upon the waves, the
silence upon the shore. was it
quiet enough to hear
the break? thunderous blue, the
chasms of her eyes.
present, in the body
that doesn't fit, I watched
you murder the sky. I wasn't ready
you are my bruises. welts
along my wrists, fingertips
dancing on my neck. bluebird,
you were a midnight mistake
leaking over the next morning.
you wept and all
the world called you beautiful;
we kissed the naked silence between your bones,
we watched you drown yourself in vodka and not-so-
secrets, and we brought you back to life;
we held you as you quaked
like a tragedy in its first bloom.
I called you beautiful,
and you used all of me
[I am as naked as the breeze, as
useless as a songbird without
a note. I am as hungry
the tide and as lonely
as the moon who calls
upon it; starlight,
you took all of me,
the negative space
I fell in love
first with the taste
of you-- good weed
and the resurrection
of unmet expectations. when
you kissed my neck, I was
alive; I was a series of
sparks in a vacuum night.
you were a million moths
blooming within my ribcage, you
were the beginning of the story
I was afraid to open. I fell in love
with the goosebumps tha
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is the
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory silence,
accidental exposurenewton’s laws never
applied to you. maybe
tomorrow won’t come, and
we will always be a
few gestures short of
you are that glint
on the edge of the
flirtation of a star, of
a wish whispered
into skin that
cannot listen. I
traced so many apologies into
your spine; Dear Amy, my
body is an empty bookshelf
and I’m sorry I couldn’t
give you a perfect ending.
Dear Amy, you are more than
the hands that hollowed you
and made you quiet. Dear Amy,
stunted emotional development
is a blessing but I’m so scared I’ll
hurt you I’m so scared I care
about you, you’re the first person
who didn’t want me selfishly,
the first person to make
there are so many shades
of blue in your eyes
I can’t capture; so many
poems caught in your
hair. I dreamt about you
every night this week;
I was the monster hiding
under your bed.
unrealistic ideologies of an
are toxic; breathing
is a chore. there is
a careful warmth in the
combined effort of
we are the forgotten.
we are the tangled limbs
and childhood stories for
a more sensitive future; we
are the longing, we are
we are measured
in the people we touch;
and I will love you
in the UV light of
hide and seek paranoia.
I love you in the red shimmer
of harbored dreams, I love you
in the industrial gl
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in abstract art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
Suven kehtoVainaja kuin harhain haamu hämärässä varhaisaamun
o'ottaa katveess' varjon puisen, alla pihlajan tomuisen.
Värisevi e'esmenneistä muistumista, murhehista
penkalla puron poloisen, varressa virran viluisen.
Kai sen nuotio varhain sammui omass' kyynelsatehessa,
kadoksiin unholan kehtoon vailla suojaa tuiskuhista
kesken pakkasyön kolkkoisen, kaamoksen lumivalkoisen.
Taisi vainaa painajaisen lainehiden alle jäädä,
alle hurmeen aamumeren sarastusta katsoessaan
manalan joen rajoilta, Tuonelan raunioilta.
Palaa pahin painajainen eilismuiston pirstaleista,
uni u’usta uupuvasta pimennosta painuvasta
elon hauraan haihtuessa, menetyksen kaikuessa.
Parvi vaipuu voipuneena huuruisille autiomaille,
luopuu hornan uumenista, korppikotkanaamioista
laulamahan kautta viiman virsistänsä kaunehimman:
Oi, harakka, nouse maasta, irti ketjust' luisevasta!
Karkaa rautahäkistäsi, pakoon arkkus' tammen taakkaa.
Poistu polust' poloisesta t
Remarks on October Festivities‘Twas the day before Halloween, when all through the school,
Not a student was present, not a seat was full.
The pumpkins and skeletons were taped to the walls with care
In preparation for the children that would soon be there.
The buses pulled up and the parking spots filled.
Students in costume straggled through the autumn chill.
And Sister with her pumpkin spice coffee, and I with my scarf
Had just stepped out of our car to see a classmate’s hair looking like candy corn barf.
I looked at my sister and she looked at me,
Her eyes gleaming with a festive glee.
“It’s the transfer student,” was all she could master.
I nodded. “Yes, his hair’s a disaster.”
The orange dye bled into the yellow—
Well, blonde—it didn’t look right on such a pale fellow.
And what with my wandering eyes did I see,
But the transfer student coming towards me.
He grinned and waved, dressed mostly in black,
While I took a surreptitious step back.
The Phoenician Sailor's TestimonyI was thirteen when I touched the water first
Barely having reached the age of reason,
But filled with this unquenchable thirst –
The denial of which would be self-treason.
A thirst had I, O Lord my God, parched
By the budding truth that I would die –
Would die, and in some ways wanted to.
Wanted to die, yes, but not for you;
I wanted to die for the sake of my arched
Brows, knit with my own confused cry
Of Kyrie, Kyrie, for I do not believe –
I want to want – but I want to leave.
The sanctuary walls kept the danger within
So I sat in the lobby where I was free of sin.
And even at that age I was applauded for this –
Freedom from God is a freedom from stress –
The stress of sin that taints our brief bliss
While a perfect Other Being warns: Unless, Unless.
Unless you behave and deny all you are,
Unless you die to your old, former self,
Unless you find yourself broken on a rock
Unless you bend the knee and wish on that star
Unless you give it all
DecemberThe snow is falling but I think we have to walk
The traffic here is simply that bad.
She grabs her purse without so much as a balk
At the thought of trudging through snow.
She had that way – reminding me of what I had
When I began to steam with a fierce red glow.
Most times she didn’t even need to talk.
At the party north of Elm we parted ways,
Her to her friends, me to mine, promising to show
For the countdown and the teasing taste
When that clock finally hit midnight.
Until then, have fun, my dear.
Deep in the den, they talk like you wouldn’t believe
And I just want to cry, bored out of my mind
With their vacation and what they did Christmas Eve
While I wait to leave this year behind.
Maybe another drink – make it two.
A fresh glass in hand I spy you on the patio, eyeing
The frosty stars out above the festive city lights,
And I hear you counting crows, your face trying
To mask that look you keep most nights from belying
That it’s been a long December, se
ParisklageUnd hinter ihm die Trümmerstadt,
Ist er es, der sie verwüstet hat?
Er rennt nicht, geht ganz ruhig daher,
Trümmerstadt, du sahst ihn nimmer mehr.
Sein Schatten fällt auf See hinab,
Fort treibt's ihn von der Trümmerstadt,
Oh sag mir, Meer, oh sag mir Strom,
Hast du ihn gesehen, den Königssohn?
Den Göttern gleich sein Antlitz war,
Gemüt, wie Feuer, doch ehrlich war,
Nie trat er falsch, nie bracht' er leid,
Was geschah mit ihm, dass ihn verleit'?
Oh, Trümmerstadt, du weißt es nicht,
Niemand kann es dir je sagen, denn
Der Königssohn verschwand von Land,
Und auch im Meer, ich ihn nie fand.
A Calm SongThey look at you with their evil eyes
Born again, I think calm is more wise
Knowing some people are just spies
Filled with nothing, just sad envy and lies.
Als ein Schatten an der Wand
Sich mit Ruß und Träumen paarte -
Über schwacher Glut verharrte
Von ‚Vielleicht‘ zum ‚Ist‘ gespannt -
Schälte sich aus dieser Szene
Eine schlangendünne Sehne.
Jene Sehne zog Verstand,
Aus den halb versäumten Träumen -
Aus den alten, kalten Räumen
In der sie sich wiederfand,
Zog es sie hinaus ins weite,
Wo es weiße Wunder schneite.
Kaum berührte sie das Weiß,
Spürte sie mit einem Male,
Kälte bricht die zarte Schale
Ihrer Haut wie dünnes Eis.
Durch die eisig wunde Blöße,
Wuchs sie zur zehnfachen Größe.
Nur im Innern blieb sie klein,
Und sie suchte wachsend Wärme
Länder ohne Flockenschwärme,
Oder einen heißen Stein
Auf den sie sich schlängeln könnte…
Der ihr eine Zuflucht gönnte.
Als es Nacht geworden war,
Sah sie über tausend Sonnen,
Die der Schuppenschmied gesponnen
Season's ChangeSeason stands at her closet
Perusing the hangers with care
Tapping her chin with her finger
Wondering what she should wear
Fresh shades of green and a sun hat?
An apple-red sweater of wool?
A pair of slick rubber rain boots
With a parka to keep out the cool?
Conflicted, she pauses and ponders
Then decides to give up her quest
She'll leave the choice up to her mother
After all, Mother Nature knows best.
TrojaParis ward er einst genannt,
Des Priamos' jüng'rer Sohn,
Regier'n sollt' er nie das Land,
Auch erben nicht den Thron.
So wusst' der junge Prinz oft nicht,
Was mit ihm einst passieren sollt',
Doch leider war sein Herz rein nicht,
Seinem Bruder er stets grollt.
Hektor war der gold'ne Sohn,
Der Erbe, stolzer Recke,
Der sich dereinst auf dem Thron
Hinter keinem mehr verstecke.
Er zog aus, so oft es ging,
Gefahren immer zu entgegen,
Und manch ein seltsames Geding,
Begab sich auf seinen Wegen.
Der Jüng're doch zuletzt besann,
Sich auf den Vorteil, den er hat,
Denn wo Hektor eckte an,
War Paris wunderbar, und glatt.
Verlor sein Herz, sammelte mehr,
So viele Frauen liebten ihn,
Dass er die Liebe schätzt' nicht sehr,
Ihm doch zuzufliegen schien.
Bis zuletzt der Bruderzwist,
Auf die Höhe wart getrieben,
Denn wo Helena kam mit List,
War Hektor nicht untätig geblieben.
Raubte er dem Bruder dann,
Den einen, der ihm wichtig war,
Den einen, den geliebten Mann,
Damit hielt er
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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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