deviant art

Deviant Login
Buy Art Buy adCast Buy Premium Membership
Shop		  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
×
cadaver she was born with arctic lips
and overcast skin.
her hair fell like fresh snow
and she was far too thin.
her bones in locked closets,
joints creaked and shrieked
like a rotten floorboard
under gossamer feet.
8.10.12he unsnapped her bra
along with her backbone,
caressing her shoulder blades,
holding her up by her collar bones.

she slid down his boxers
and stripped off his skin,
soothing his nerve endings,
laying him down by his veins.

but they couldn't love properly;
he was selfish in one eye.
cobblestones.

i pulled a napkin from the silver tin,
wiped the table clear, drops of ketchup staining the center.
i crushed the paper in my palm, felt the dampness reach the edges.

hurt cloud, she said as i let it roll across the table.

.

shooting baskets as the day ended,
the ball went over the backboard, disappeared into the dark.
she shrugged, then bent low, picked up pebbles.
aimed
and threw.

.

your poor hands, she said.  you have so many scars,
and you're still so young.  (she, younger than i, saying this)

she touched one hand, then after a pause she took the other
without looking at me.

some things take so much
The hollowi.

He says, you can tell an honest man
by the run of his walk, the stalk of his step.
Laugh, then, no, no, it's not for women.
The honest woman is walking towards you
even when she walks away, he says.
Nothing can be as deep as woman
or as hollow. I cannot be woman:
I am a tangle of shallows
destined to fall the willowish
drowning men until they free.
I am the highway the honest men
use and in being used, I gain permanence.
You, you sloppy cadences and twists,
I strangle. God, you got me heady still.
But my cankerous heart pulses on
and spills lethe on grassy steppes.

ii.

His sister's tone is mechanic
and breathy. She tal
Dionaea MuscipulaWatch and be enthralled as
Aphrodite lullabies with love songs
using her luscious lips and
nimble tongue, trident-pronged-
promises so serene, one cannot resist
She is like cursed vino
maddening yet too numbing, too giving of peace of mind
for a drunk to refuse slipping sips

All hail! All hail!

One can only imagine how succulent
the dew caressing her form must be
As the liquid collects
into her cavities,
You fall deeper
into the mercy of her eyes;
in their reflection is you, utterly mesmerized

You are a gaunt-legged youth
and as you approach the diosa
so do you your desolation

All hail! All hail!

Her fingers are hing
AtomicI was born with a revolution burning between my nerves
Born with a backbone
That can't bend, break or curve
I was born with fire in my veins
To ignite the sinners and burn the self-proclaimed saints

Well, I was made out of passion and dreams
Made out of love that was free
I can't be bought or traded
I was born with my soul unchained
And I will not lie for smiles that are painted

I was born with a revolution itching in my throat
Born with a demon
Who's favourite word is No
I was born with the power of hell between my legs
I'll never bow down, not even if you beg
the loopand if i am going down
(and i am)
i will go
kicking & spitting
blood, splitting
lips, marring
ribs.

we are all on death row
some of us just have
a longer sentence.
how to pay the plumberthe sun is born of ink that leaks from dog-eared galaxies

and the night is made of copper eyes that pipe the constellations
but we are too polite to stare.
any hand that may brush my back must bleed the alphabet
from wearied fingertips, and this is why:
happiness is ice and crinkled bones all wrapped up warm in the
childless rings of saturn
and your smiling face-of-a-cliff that scorches pretty spring skin dry.

we will never say we will never love so

i will die beside,
you die below.
slip-The memories of her come in portraits:
heavily scented with her cigarette scent,
dusty autumn coats on the faded ink.

--

"He dreamt of a woman who moved like the sea,
perpetually flooding the alcove of his mind,
bearing eyes as blue, with hints of green,

like water in cupped hands,
slippery-
slip-
slipping through thin fingers to pour
past the shoreline,
falling deeply in love with the ocean tide."

--

The memories of her come in poems:
brief as her kisses and
lonesome as the night.
ifif i could fall in love with you,
i'd yank the blue sky from its perch and wrap it around your
shoulders like grandma's woollen blanket;

i'd extract the spirit from
between your toes and douse your eyes in it, so maybe
then i'd understand what makes your thoughts
turn 'round;

and i'd write the words of
a love-bitten victim on the insides of your wrists, just to
make sure i won't find scratches there in the
morning.

if i could fall in love with you,
i'd glue your sentences on the  walls, and tell everyone
the paint was peeling anyway; and i like falling asleep
to the scent of your ink-spelt feelings;

and i'd give away the coffe
Encroaching TerrorHuckle-hunting crack-backed worms
'neath jeering, leering tangled forms.
Branches breaking, bending, sending
shivers down my mangled spine.

Fine, everything's just fine.
Backward glancing, I see dancing
shadows, shadows that aren't mine.

Time, time ever racing, chasing,
pacing, my footsteps ever hastening;
tasting the seconds as they fade away.

Decay comes quickly, sickly;
stenches, wrenches my groaning gut.
Moaning, roaming through the leaves,
weaves the yearning, burning thing of night.

Sight, I am robbed of sight.
Blinding, something hidden binding,
twining, snaking round my aching useless eyes.

Sighs, the sighs of
biopsyput me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.

if they were to take me apart,
slice open my chest,
peel back the skin keeping me whole,
they would find:

a. one heart, slowly ticking.
(they would not find anything,
but they would have to say they did.
after all, girls can't live without a heart.
they forget that i'm not the first:
a score of girls walking even though
they should have faded long ago.)

b. each rib curved so perfectly,
a shield around my lungs.
(a cage, keeping my breath from bursting
out of my skin. know that this is just me,
held together by nature,
unable to lose control of myself.)

c.
In your headThat everything is with no reason
All tides are simple water
But they hit us the same
The monsters in your head
Are only in your head
Transfixed
Rushing down the cavern
They wipe you out
And you sleep
Bobbing in that ocean
A starry nighted motion
That rocks you into waking
the boy with a sun for a heartI speak in tongues because I cannot breathe your air
Like the moon stripping glory from the sun
I can never give you what you're used to
Feeding on the soil at your feet
Hoping for a chance to kiss your knees

Will my rib cage full of sodden hoarding
Be worthy of your scintillation?
I'm a wooden house
Filled with plastic diamonds in the south
Burning in your gentle heat
Melting on my tarnished knees
A Ceiling Bas-relief (the Fontaine House)1.1850.  To typhus, the only boy
of a tinsmith, lost.  Off to the side
of the mourning, swinging its
neck, the child's pet swan rejects
food, follows its small master.
The smith resumes work.  Borne
by river Natchez to Memphis,
across years he labors, ornamenting
the homes of the wealthy.
In 1870, to this house, comes...

2.Atop a scaffold, face uplifted,
  Kneeling.  He applies
  A thin base.  An oval frame
  Molds.  Hands floating,
  The curved outline of wings
  Forms, feather by feather
  Details. 
Browse More Like This

More from ~anotherforestfire

1Blaspheme, I stand out like an arrogant thorn on the briar
Cautious like bark and sap trickles down
Distant atmosphere can't carry the weight of an all knowing seed
Rupturing the rapture and drowning out the sound
Of too much fire, sparking from the night spires
That stand too high and speak riddles at my name
birthUntil the ovum opened like ghost skin
Pooled like the ocean
And poured from my mouth
I wasn’t aware of how god-like
We sinners could easily be
The Book of PromisePracticing a faith,
A fetish that is you
I sing hymns carved by my tongue
On your skin
In awe of the quintessence
Fastened to your name

Featured in Groups

:iconlive-love-write: :iconlooselacespoetry: :iconliterary-visions:
×

a drug or choosing

:iconanotherforestfire:

Your oily prints upon my eyes
Blessed art thou
You bleed through the cracks in my walls
Eyes, pores in every centimeter of wallpaper
Watching me sleep, watching my night-mare
The horse running from the fire-like river
Pouring down the mountain to the plains below
Engulfing my atmosphere in golden red smoke
I am not addicted

2,675

15 10 12
:iconanotherforestfire:

a drug or choosingby ~anotherforestfire

DescriptionDetailsShare
Download HTML download, 482 bytes
I find shelter
©2012-2013 ~anotherforestfire
Category: Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Details

Stats

Submitted on
July 28, 2012
File Size
482 bytes
Views
2,675
Favourites
15 (who?)
Comments
10
Downloads
12
URL
Thumb
Only verified accounts can report policy violations. Please check your email and click on the verification link.
* Required field
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
:icondreamsinstatic:
`dreamsinstatic Aug 17, 2012  Professional Writer
Your amazing work has been featured in Friday Night Features.
Reply
:iconmrs-freestar-bul:
*Mrs-Freestar-Bul Aug 9, 2012   Writer
This is so beautiful. I'm really falling in love with your poetry.
Reply
:iconanotherforestfire:
~anotherforestfire Aug 11, 2012
thank you, that means a lot
Reply
:iconcontagiouspixie:
~ContagiousPixie Jul 28, 2012  Student Photographer
You're so under appreciated. It's a crime.
Reply
:iconanotherforestfire:
~anotherforestfire Jul 31, 2012
lol thank you, I'm still trying to figure out how to get myself out there
Reply
:iconcontagiouspixie:
~ContagiousPixie Aug 2, 2012  Student Photographer
Yeah, I understand, unfortunately the art world isn't as welcoming or shows off literature as much. :\
Maybe you could consider something like submitting to a magazine? Starting up more accounts?
Like, you could have a Flickr account of your poems as pictures of it in text. Start a blog, and
link them all up together. I noticed a lot of the more famous photographers I watch are on
many websites, getting their name out there. So, it's an idea.
Reply
:iconanotherforestfire:
~anotherforestfire Aug 3, 2012
I've actually been thinking about starting a blog. I need to sit down and really get to work on it, and then slowly work my way through everything else. And I'm trying to work on some short stories that will hopefully be good enough to submit to a magazine or something like that. I'm not really sure how many would want poetry, or my poetry, though.
Reply
:iconcontagiouspixie:
~ContagiousPixie Aug 5, 2012  Student Photographer
Yes, please do so, it saddens me that your work is
so unappreciated, when I've never read anything like
it before. It feels original, emotional and like
something many people would enjoy, if only they knew.
I wish I was more "famous" so that I could feature
you and it'd actually make an impression. You
could possibly find a poetry magazine? I know there's
tons of fabulous online magazines now, it's kind of
a new movement, they're everywhere now. OH right!
Here, I think you can actually submit to this one: [link]
they made a post earlier encouraging people to submit
their poems with the theme of exploration.
Reply
:iconanotherforestfire:
~anotherforestfire Aug 8, 2012
thank you, that means a lot
ooh, I might actually submit something to them if I can come up with something good, thank you! I'll keep my eye out for some other magazines, too...I really need to get better at selling myself lol
Reply
:iconcontagiouspixie:
~ContagiousPixie Aug 14, 2012  Student Photographer
You're most welcome, as always.
Yes, please do! :)
Reply
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
©2013 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy