DrStrangelove86

never have I seen such a view the sky erupts with fire, threatening to hew            illuminating land land that seeks and breaks the soil with green luminescence as buds burst forth among                                                                  ashen                                                                    soil what uncertainty it brings to this, the world again she stands along the shore and stays awake while no one comes     to give her    some other bliss   for       hers is not              her own                                                           there was no owner of              

Wrought with silver pure as the undefiled virgin that I sought forever Placing her savory figure on a crag jutting out violently from the mountainside And though I fly amongst the clouds scanning the ever-broadening horizon I still have always (or have never) ceased to see the earth in fine-spun alpaca wool using an old spinning wheel

Recurring again the avalanche chooses to swoop violently down, revealing black rocks that shine in the sunlight glossy with water She, standing with her back bent a trodden grass blade rising slowly up such that she forgot where to start again The people want to let it be there with the wellspring of her heart that she makes her own language gurgling without the tendencies of hailing one another resting in the shade

Running her hands through his rusty mane she leans into him The one she knew before had gone like her father had He's writing into me she thought as he scratched out With the black strokes of his tool he gouges his messages into her back the calligraphy inscribed upon her rough parchment is etched inside

I heard the trash can scrape accross the stone floor cold as ice "No, that doesn't need to happen yet" I loosed the cord that warned me to hang And I go about my business Again it destroys hot coals scorching the face that never will be seen again without the presence of a shawl "When will anything happen?"

She, with    incandescent  eyes    plodding through    the marsh with her    back warped    with her soul He is the     one to     give her voluptuous     body with perfect     breasts to     the decrepit place The crimson sky     fades when     he lays her     cascading body     sweeping the fog     over Carrying him once     before     again with     gripping tension Now, alone     and goosebumped     she will     sleep away     the plains of     ones whose hands     were dark     and worn with     endless labor The work of     hope While she is     without the other     and so

supposedly you were meant to inspire - now I have come to the conclusion over this so called caffeinated wisdom that it's more that you leave something to be desired, which doesn't hold much gravity since you manage to sit up straight, despite your claims of carrying yourself with such personal sacrifice it would be most pleasurable to underline to you the undeniable facts of life, pointing out the greys in between all of the blacks and the whites - you hardly seem interested, hardly seem remotely amused i've been suspending personal disbelief towards your lacking musical content, wondering exactly what it is you're singing abou

This morning I picked pennies from the floor and made crucifixes with my fingers, do you think I meant to gnaw through the nerves in your arms? I didn't want to be so brutal. I could not stop, natural sugar corroding my teeth and your veins, saline, my face. This poem is two empty wine bottles and a gin bottle hidden under dirty laundry. I can be found there mulling over mistakes and dabbing you from my jawline. My tongue is often misprinted, lips slip along table tops where amber light cuts wood between us, just a cluttered mess just beer and neglect.   This poem is an voicemail message. My fingerprints fell on dusty shelve

Trees shield clouds from me tripping up their dripping slips of sheer moisture. Trees shield me from clouds tipping down, slipping sheer moisture to the ground. 27th May 2006