11-09-2012, 03:45 PM
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#1 |
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Lets rent bikes from 1942
Join Date: May 2006
Location: In the deepest ocean, the bottom of the sea
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[VOTING-II] Autumn Competition
top 2 go through to the finals, try to not vote for more than 2 or 3
the cycle itself like king weighted pictures you've locked in the fog of your head and like sentences offered with whispering tones you'd be wiser than most not rejecting the twilight deferral and all that is brings awaiting a change in the season embracing the nature of dangerous habits and things we love it at times in the shape of our bones and the marrow gets softer by changing it's tones never opened a blueprint never needed to. the view is what makes it the colours that warm it we simply observe it and it's balance is never but held nicely Waiting with crystalline hands Impatient as the cold seeps glacially upward Let me in A touch of burning skin; reminiscing Cliché thoughts of days spent in damp embers With warm hands, warm hearts... But this is different A late blossom Stopped in the spring by others Vibrant displays that lure, seduce Leaving you with empty pockets Wasted time Searching through stale nectar As the blazed ground fell to cinders It could push through, different, unknown Unfelt before Let me in Out of the cold Out of the rain Take my hands in yours Just friends It's all I can take now Let me in We can let the days pass Warm inside Together Just friends Just friends. Germs We are germs procreating with each kiss; swallowing each other’s cough as if our lips were the only gas mask that could pull us through the leaf-stained air – carrier of the season’s change flu. Chewing our bodies, with the blind belief that our skin provided the vitamins that’d keep our body hair out of setting on end to the chilling breeze, as though we were making love in a room full of recent scoured balloons and old television sets. We’re relying on this because holding hands is better than wearing gloves, while treading through humid stones we once feared to slip on. The waves we sometimes gaze upon are getting more violent as our fingers tie together more tightly. But we’re still too afraid to get lost on this need and apparent dependency, because germs are easily eliminated and we are deciduous. as the harvest moon rises the tittering sun that once carried my songs aged and withered in whispers, all scarlet and blond, locked in parchment inscribed in the branches of veins (much like those on your palms) braiding autumn leaf manes. it's much quieter here (far from feeding my lungs) where my afterthoughts deal such a delicate stroke - & instead of the slash, I stand biting my tongue sighing only the portraits of what I had spoke. they told me they loved me the moment I smiled but were deaf to the screams leaking all through my teeth til I burst like a blister of unfulfilled tides flooding over the walls I could no longer feed. should I burn all the trees just to unleash the clouds? they're so carefully crafted by streams of my blood but the only drops left are in crackles of brown, just the bark of my dreams that once grew in the sun. Rootless you drift off the branch and float, orange and wrinkly like a recently fired pharmacy employee gone rotten, an ugly plastic bag swaying dully in the breeze - and you thought I'd forgotten what you whispered behind my back to me in the summer just gone, something about the sweat stains on my inside shoulders, tear duct pits of despair - so live with the comparison and leave, fall from that odd tree analogy and tarnish the muddy ground and do your thing for the nitrogen cycle. You, bitter in the dirt like the lemon tart no-one wants for pudding. Send for the snow now, let it mulch over your lonely compost heap, arid tongue lodged firmly into oozing cheek. Leaving after Jean Hélion The widow doesn't believe what she has become; nothing was wrong. The arrangement of things as if you'd never gone, and her plans hang in the space beneath the cieling, fill the vents with the faintest shafts of light— She hears footsteps now, shoes stumbling down the hall catches her breath as they near, says your name to herself, but he doesn't stop and when a door that isn't her own clicks shut she asks you "Hello?" and though you don't reply, looks at the mess you left behind and doesn't feel alone— Is that still life? Is that still life?
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Anatomy Anatomy Whale Blue Review Park that car
Drop that phone Sleep on the floor Dream about me |
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11-27-2012, 03:43 PM
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#2 |
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Lets rent bikes from 1942
Join Date: May 2006
Location: In the deepest ocean, the bottom of the sea
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voting plum, plum and green through
__________________
Anatomy Anatomy Whale Blue Review Park that car
Drop that phone Sleep on the floor Dream about me |
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