rant 1What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite: a feeling and a love,
-wordsworth
Newest
UntitledIt is hard to spy on the cell, though its city walls are molten margarineUntitled
whose gaping doors tremble at lightening.
I have sent my best man for the job; he sneaks in with the outsiders. They are ripped into pieces but he plays dead among the heaps of corpses.
In the final acid chambers, my man escapes and infiltrates the birthing machine. There, the jellyfish lights are attached to select newborns, sleeper cells for my network of espionage.
Under the ultraviolet, they show me the cell is a collapsed city
saturated with car crashes and ho
by ~Germanicus2
Old WaysBrown coinOld Ways
token of my craft remember when fortune telling was in the blank
spaces between the stars and the flight of roving
birds blind to the ground swells on the map
the entrails housing kidneys spoke dark inarticulate marvels their inches of flesh were rich as calculus of sand
we once traced figures on tortoise shells
with ice and burned the stone
fat out of dragon bones all to deliver winter rites
yet these secrets piled with the yarrow
stalks and tumbled into chance lines
clean of blood or art
but corrupted by me
by ~Germanicus2
bone crowds beneathbone crowds beneath stained muslin a tangle of city pipes steaming with rust this malformed pile is a chaos of attrition, sprawled over broken sod and dried wheatbone crowds beneath
under the white shell once limped life that shaped flesh into cages now empty with all its edges torn
only a pile of artless serrations
these chipped yet specular surfaces mirror no ghosts or dreams
just monuments to the brutal act of earth spilling onyx onto grass a sublime feeling of bodies being meat and the unsigned contract with the dust
by ~Germanicus2
Favourites
separationMother held God and I in different margins.separation
God, lip-hooked, and lolling on rolls of tongue,
held me like a fish-boned flaw, arrowing the stretch of stomach,
taking skin to sag.
Morning gave Mother a package: the basin, and advice:
Curing Rejection, sugared milk, one teaspoon. Seek more light.
God doubted Mother, then, the lamp making wax of her face, but still Mother blew cupped-palm prayers
to bring back uttered nothings. Voice seperated limb from love, and I
stopped swimming,
so M
by `Amberlouie
by =ordie
The Root OrchardThe first flower grew from a glass bottle and flush filled rooms with yellowed light.The Root Orchard
The first flower fell in the first week, kept between pages of a Latin book, with words he could only mouth –
the language too tough to chew.
As a boy turned man his fingers slowed, delicate in the art of common green, and she – hush lipped.
In rain they wed without words, only the exchange of silver to skin.
He planted her a stone-fruit orchard, where plums drew stains on opened hands, and the flesh of fruit fel
by `Amberlouie
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| MIMESIS |
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I hung on that windy tree for nine nights wounded by my own spear.
I hung to that tree, and no one knows where it is rooted.
None gave me food. None gave me drink. Into the abyss I stared
until I spied the runes. I seized them up and, howling, fell
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