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BurstThe soft pattering of a dog’s paws, his moist nose pleads for the attention of your knee; or maybe he feels the stench of melancholyBurst
rising from his master.
does it matter, anyway.
life hides in the deep contours of his eyes. for a minute -
i worry he might burst.
i just need another body to hold. no. it is i who is bursting.
by ~eternalwanderer
TeaI.Tea
Her eyes, bound to the hills as her spilled tea to its cup –
- un-mopped,
still whispering someday.
II.
“and when he’s gone?”
“I’ll drink tea.” she retorts.
III.
she pours emotion into her cup; then swallows it all.
escaping steam holds secrets.
IV.
and only in her eyes rests buried hope that perhaps, all the warmth in her hands will not just come from her tea.
by ~eternalwanderer
Delightful DelicacyI never knew why you didn’t glance through the platter I paraded you on. Well greased, as always, wouldn’t want you to stick; charred skin never did suite my taste.Delightful Delicacy
and don’t forget the apple, tightly clenched in the
peaks of your jaws; conversation isn’t your strong point; a good impression ought to be retrained. I always liked your artificial affection better, after all.
did you see, how the vegetables accented the peach tint in your skin? You never did mind being torn apart, you know, those who hold knives see naught
by ~eternalwanderer
KiwiIf I toss you a dime what you’ll thrust backKiwi
is a quarter
depending on whether or not I want to exploit my loneliness on you.
No guarantees you whispered in
your futile endeavors to dam the surge of emotions in my veins;
you let it cascade away.
A introverted drop on your bed sheets.
by ~eternalwanderer
Favourites
in the 7th gradein the 7th grade my mother drove me 6 miles up the river i was 13 to get cat from coworkerin the 7th grade
she picked one out and up that was stripped grey like layers of soiled snow
i wanted to call her
Carbon
which i thought clever my mother however believed me silly and named her Lily my wit overwrit by matriarch- al mood swings- ets that i used to play on
as i got older
gave that up for word pl
by ~alexcross
Dreamscape SublimityHe throws his sunglasses on top of his head in one, swift movement...leaving the edges of his hair, sunglistened and brown, sticking out awkwardly like a parrot's ruffled feathers.Dreamscape Sublimity
I love this man -
who dreamed a dream and never woke up -
because he realized he didn't have to.
The world in collegately proven reality is merely one dream. That which you create makes moments, moments. One finite point of expression, with boundless variables, He's always leaping to new branches to grasp a firm grip.
by ~teknojunkie
GolddeviantID
Devious Info
- Current Residence: California
- Interests: Writing, reading, philosophy,and nature.
- Favourite movie: Gattaca, Amelie
- Favourite band or musician: Mmm. Jack Off Jill, Smashing Pumpkins...too many to choose from.
- Favourite genre of music: Anything that means something.
- Favourite poet or writer: E.E. Cummings, Erich Maria Remarque, Mikhail Bulgakov
- Shell of choice: From the Mediterranean coast in Israel.
- Personal Quote: Not all who wander are lost.
- Tools of the Trade: My mind.
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Happiness, by
The Interview, by
Rusting Bridges of Suburbia, by
So, I did some peruzing, and earthed up these three pieces.
Happiness is beautiful in its own simplicity, and has a subtle kick to it that I find lacking in a lot of reading these days.
The Interview is an interesting little for-the-stage piece that I found myself cracking up over, all over the place. There's some great humor and dialogue going on here, as well as some great subtle toss-ins for the actors to experiment with. Something I would love to see performed.
While Rusting Bridges of Suburbia might be a little ho-hum subject-wise, the rhythm and control of meter that ~ honestbrutality has accomplished here is impeccable. It takes a lot of practice and a lot of control of vocabulary to get a good rhythm in a slam piece these days, and it's done beautifully here.
Get writing, fuckos. *jesusbite
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