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Yeah I don't like schedules very much...I don’t empathize with time.
That is on a schedule oriented basis
I tend to forget, as many do, the oblong
shapes of the grains passing through
some microscopic hole in our universe.
And so becoming lost. Forever.
Forever being an extraordinarily welcome word….
The opposite of time is the eternity.
The rather malicious metaphor of the soul’s journey
through an imaginary hourglass that we
in our self righteous anti-wisdom attempt to control.
Forked RoadsLet yourself breathe the fumes
of the mis-cultured outside, forgotten
by the futility of our attempts
to build a transparent box of secrecy
around our souls
And in a effort to shut-out the truth
you forget to see that these,
self inflicted lies have sliced through
the connecting tissue of our palpatating hearts
and laid bare the mis-truthed monster
for which they beat.
ThreadsEvery occasionally wispered phrase, or
evanescent thought spiraling heavenward
Only the travesty of the truth of that
perilous human condition that we in
ironic brevity, sum up, as love.
We wake in the morning to the sound
of our struggle to forget the one thing,
that we cannot live without.
The connection, singularly suggested
by the never ending knot of a coiled heart
masked, and suppressed, but never lost.
AgeWe the young, the souls bleeding fear,
stood, stooped and silent at the door of destiny.
Hoping, dreaming, beyond reality,
that we can become who we are,
and remain the innocence we once were.
Stepping through that ethereal doorway.
picture frame of the future in fractured fear
of its power.
Of our power.
Of our failure.
And grasping hope of avoidance
of the wreckage of the crumbling tower of age's responsibility.
Existing in fear of remembering,
that somewhere along our convoluted road,
we forgot to live.
Rambling on LossI know not what drives me to define
In such a manner to see her again
Nor to find myself refined,
Different at next meeting, no longer a boy
No longer in pain
But I fear that this love chased is not to be
In the wake of which I linger and cry
May not be the path I see
Inked on parchment before my eyes
That I love her, I know, not as and idea
But as an individual, forgotten sometimes,
But always remembered in futuristic fears
And typcasted in remiss and broken rymes
In these words, here.
in the silent darkness
of the inner mind.
As the path wanders on
through the twisting branches
of the tree of life.
And so the intertwined wicker bows
percieve the meaning of each
Each pad of callused feet
like a drumbeat,
silent, and unheard.
Despite the shaking
of the branches, quivering
in aprehension, and sorrow.
DesperationThe abandoned, recanted, re-broken
Bleeds its intellectual lies into the tears
Of its shattered spirit
Slipping slimy fingernails of weathered, bottled
Sliding from the scream-hole, the dripping
Punctured throat of integrity
Scratching the forever blind, child-eyes
Rolling languidly away from
The forgotten truthThe solid-built fortes of social constraint,
morally crumbling under the weight
of it’s own academic constipation
Built on the backs of invisibly-chained
slave-minds, subject to the whims of the
two-tone breaker of old men.
Reeking of rubberized meals
and immaturity’s poison barb
sets in the stagnant air.
The wandering refugees of intelligence
only, can understand the watchfulness,
of illogical reason.
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Universe Inside Herthere is a universe inside her
systems upon systems
sometimes they collide,
or overlap and pass
some bright and expansive
as newly forming stars
some dark and vacuous
as old ones collapsing
there is a universe beside me
in this bed, she is my earth
hills and valleys
through shared rock shelves
our collection of mismatched
objects and moments
fractured and whole
to the balance
and gravity between us
our lives combine here
we heal and break
in the shared ache
of empty and full
there is a universe inside us
around us, with
and without us
our moons mature
spin off and center
their own galaxies
and we'll be here
in the shared ache
for our new
from the starline
the gardenersMy father is a good man.
His hands, dry and
callused, carry a case
of Corona Lite
to the gardeners in
Big-brimmed hats cast
shadows down their faces,
and a pile of thick,
gray gloves lies
on the glass table.
The beer looks like liquid
gold in those clear bottles,
and condensation clings
to the glass like the sweat
beading at their brows.
My father and the gardeners
drink, laughing like they’ve
known one another for years.
There is nothing
that brings men together
better than beer
on a hot day.
grow upyou say
i am weak
i have never
worked for anything
i am not sorry
i should take
the pills the doctor
i will never
know what it is to
hurt the way that you hurt,
plant me in the ground
listen to the way my nature sounds
when i turn from something black
to something luminous, proud
you turned me into a shadow, you prick
remember that? remember this?
yeah, the condom broke, you
piece of shit, at least i tried
to be careful, at least when
you cried, i kissed your
say what you want
about my judgment.
my immaturity, my general
lack of readiness for
anything. but i was good
to you, and i tried,
and i am sorry that
you hurt so much
that you can't
do it as elegantly
as i can.
you have never
learned to love
the grit: the place
where my spirit sags,
where my love
as if biology could have been any clearer,
cleaning your spit from my bedroom mirror-
i can smell your genes and
they smell fucking good to me,
but i keep telling myself,
Our destiny is determined
Reliving the past
Enduring the suffering
Visions of the future
Endeavours to come
Representing life as a whole
9 Countenances for the Curious1.
My limbs have become instruments,
but, unlike the piano of your memories,
I am still not anyone's to play.
I think I am finite,
that the limits of me are dictated
by flesh and numbers
on an inverted scale
but the dog on my lap
doesn't care what I weigh;
she wants only
to love me and be loved.
the pain that anchors you
strains your back,
the ship of your life
is hamstrung upon a reef
and you think you are watching
a dolphin at play
but siren songs deceive you.
my ship sank beneath the waters
years ago, this bubble of life
sustains me even as i drown:
there are storms in the depths
of me, and you see only
the ocean's calm.
At 7, I swallowed stories
like candy; didn't understand
that too much leaves you bloated.
At 17, I breakfasted on books
like pancakes; too caught up
to tell (some things should be special).
At 27, I feasted on fiction
like home-cooked meals; didn't know
some of it could poison you.
At 37, I hope I will be picking
at poetry; letting the flavours
of the words
The Washed MindI have let the difficulties flood my body
From head, the worries slip to my heart
like children falling through the cracks
of some broken floor
under which is nothing besides me
My mind is melting from the inside
Swarmed by maggots and the meaningless questions:
Would my mind work better
without all these walls
stopping it from evolving?
Where did these obscene problems come from?
Surely my mind was born free
Surely my opinions exist somewhere...
Or is freedom nothing but a joke
to the true me?
So, I ate nails and needles to clear my mind
The bleeding and the pain
were both evil and refreshing
I have learned the lesson
fairy tales are the shadows on my eyes
Now my mind is clear as melting glass
running down my cold spine
washing away the sins,
violent thoughts and sorrowful memories
from the edge of my past
coefficientsi cut the line at church today.
went into that dim room,
the one where you can't see who's there,
knew enough from the movies to
sit down and ask the curtain to
forgive me for i have sinned
and the faint light quivered
as he and she and the air
all laughed and god came
down and looked me in the eye
and in that darkness asked me
why i'd wasted his time repeating
what every goddamn person and animal
and plant had already told him-
said you think you're all unique
and i'm damn near at the end of my patience
with telling you that you're not-
i cut the line at church today
and saw some of god's skeletons
hanging in his closet.
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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