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ClayOld fingers workClay
to push and pull through water and earth. Tendons creak as joints moan, flare in pain that subsides in endless pleasure. Careful eyes close to mindless urges, long and deep to memory turn.
by *collapsis
Entropy - Open SkyThe evening sky dissipates. A convex spiral risingEntropy - Open Sky
from a patch of grass where I am nailed to the earth. Waiting brings a sense of relief. I prepare this tired ritual, bare-chested and cold. Hope has abandoned this refuge where, long ago, a battlefield
was struck in felled trees and trenches. Blood stirs. Earth stirs. Gravity stops.
Given to the rising.
by *collapsis
Random Favourites
Cancerian ConfessionalIt is not in scripture I seek a faith, penance regarding faults imagined and crafted; not in pewsCancerian Confessional
or cloistered boxes, gilt wood shaded, save the illumination
of a preacher's patchwork light--
I make religion from ridicule, immerse it in my ideals, my ignorance and bleed what's left of virtues and values,
slick pen scratches serving as memory. The angel perishes, the saint
sinks to corruption: preordained fragments of a moth eaten quilt.
by ~Kasyr
Song, Book, and RoomSong and book and room and Streetlight glowSong, Book, and Room
The real world Just outside my open palm Mouth agape in wonder... It's so filled with misery At three O' clock A.M.
Why are the streets so dirty?
I hate the rear window I hate the real world window.
I move my song and book and room To the front room, and it's little window. With it being such a short and subtle Amount of space to move it served up Such a starkly different view.
Cul-de-sac & flowers and
A man made fantasy get-a-way With it's shaped driveways, Lands
by ~TheVesper
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also...thanks for the great read from Tuesday. It was a really intriguing and a fine piece of writing.
--
last fm
[link]
--
... and to some God, is hope and nothing more.
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