a thousand greek statues oozing robitussin;
exact feelings dissipate and wash away
like rain water over tinted car windows.
What had it ever meant to find beauty in things?
or to have loved women, when long ago
I chased the fairy of the Rappahannock
and was cursed to never touch one again -
does it mean that even though I have fingers
I touch within the empty space in my throat?
In forests, the blurring green is a love potion
and the feel of wood reminds me I exist
in the short spasm of a dream. So why
does it upset me, the intimacy of others?
Why does rain water trickling down a leaf
upset me? It’s because my eyes are only holes
and my lips are the ending point of my words,
and my hands are only meant to touch stone.
Dionysus himself once in drunken revelry
saw an alien world made up of sand and milk
and he cried. I likewise, born with a mother,
have peaked vacation homes of purple stars -
where the water’s strange; no one goes there
but to exhaust a part of themselves.
To become tired… to become very tired
I have walked the fructose-glazed road into the stars;
I fear I will never again be the same.
I long for the dreamy touch of the sky.
I live in the vast ketamine landscape of color
as a short spurt of love. Forever
Another round stone on the pile,
weighing bone down to the mile
we walk around the holy ground
and pray for the gentle sound of relief
from punishment for disbelief.
With legs bent until knees touch dirt
and forehead pressed deep on the earth
our ears slow a soft quickness:
"Bow low, ask forgiveness."
poetry is gayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
The shadows have foretold,
Her eyes, lost it's luster gold.
She was like everyone, just completely innocent,
But her curiosity led her into something malignant.
She soon felt the draining of her kindness,
And replaced with something frightening: Madness.
She was no longer the kind child of forgiveness,
It was no thanks to the influence of the lord of darkness.
"D̢͘o̕͜n'͏͘ţ͜͞ ͠͝t̴hi̶ńk̕ ͏̵҉th̨҉at̢ ̴͢i̶͜t̶'̡͘s̸͞͝ ̸́o̷v̨̨͘e͏̷r̸̨ ͢y̧͢͝e̸̢t͟,̵̛̕ ̴́͢l͜iţ̷͝t҉lé̀ ҉s̶͜p͞͡a͏w͢n̡.
T͜h͝e̸̶ ̴͞f͏҉u̡ń h͜͏a̕s͜ ҉̶on͜l̷͞y͠ ̡͘͡j҉̧ù̢́s̵t̡͡҉ ͜͠b̛eg̛̀u̧̕͘n͜͠."
Creature of the id
mindless as it is
Clarity to it's hungry eyes
Grafted from the mortal mind
into existence she was wrought
if only as a thinking thought
A heart of fire
And claws of iron
Harbinger of all desire!
The birds have vanished in the sky,
and now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and I
until only the mountain remains.
雷や パソコンの前 に寝ていた
i was sleeping
before the computer
an open textbook
waves wash away
the lines in the sand
Necro bump with pride. Im glad there is a poetry thread, I write them often.
The egg whence I came, and eat eggs do I;
O, praise to products animal! to Milk
That quenches thirst, and blankets drench; revive!
To yogurt, cheese; fermented things abound,
rebuilding, building life—thus roots ‘ll ‘round!
the Lord, on fasts, observes and reconciles
Produce from meat; of course, the Grain from chaff.