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pseudo-taoistic tendencieshere, to live in obsolete measurements of stasis
and find solace in the way time bends in sweet detriment of itself
to listen, enlivened
by the sound of ten thousand and one parched persian tongues
rasping of emancipation
from the underbellies of our mirrored drunkards
where the universe is felt
and God is swallowed:
on her salted fountains
on his derelict fingers tracing unadorned love
on another woman's hipbones
an elephant's dying breath, and
the smell of climax and unsettled wombs
felt, and tasted:
in hospital tubes
failure of recognition
the partisans of our cause and command
the ebb and flow of our saturated, wrinkled seas
you taught me
the only time impossible is applicable
is when i iterate how broken this feels (i am)
superseding god has now become second-nature
and wisdom only found on the gravebed of noetic trees
pure, unadulterated peace.
crimson epiphanies, molten elegies
enveloped by dirges of the dead, chanting:
when in god's world, sweet child
pray at the altars of silence
oceans bowed before the grace
of earth-worn eyes, reminders:
serendipity's lost cause.
absolving rays of enlightenment
shedding stardust skin, peeling
layers of reminiscence from
sanctified white flags-
divine serenades of rebirth.
Muted Liltmay nights brew black
on calloused retinas
I crush three shades of dissent
out of the rubble (aftermath)
on a film of labile skin
encapsulated winter shadows
patterned bruises by ghosts in ink
root-bound dead whisperings:
december's late memory
Achromatic Dreamstoday, god gave me present.
stilted windows, white bones
decaying lungs and my mind races
at the rate of a lone moth's jaded wings
we taste better alone
clemency is earned
by the damned, by the damned
we belong to nobody
and she bowed with artless grace
kissed the sky, shed stardust tears
choked on angelic moonshine
we draw our own constellations
today, i gave god presence.
Dearly Deceased DameAnd I apologize for these neurotic abrasions,
this mercury printed skin. I digress:
I have kept your favorite black scarf
(of a thousand minute dying bells), squirreled
away from the face of these lingering years,
to live by and breathe your sweet scent: my ether.
And I apologize for such relapsed memories,
for neglecting to ingrain your tastes in my insipid psyche
apart from the shrill of your voice, apart from
your last, soul-piercing scream.
But every time I lose a tooth, trace
trailing fingers on live green vines, smooth
my voice to sing alongside divine, orphaned birds, lick
the remnants of a 2L box of vanilla ice-cream,
I am reborn-
taken from your holy womb once only to be reincarnated again.
In Riposte, Jswallow god's sense of humor, and tell me how it feels
to send gravity crawling on all fours- stir the remnants
of this violet collapse; ardent attachment:
play the accretion of your dilatory heartstrings for our silent mute
who raise a glass in toast to coalesce our beloved earth,
who study hagiography as a means of beautiful suicide
on lingering, listless oceans emptying unto itself.
and maybe your ascension was predetermined, perhaps
drawn in apologetic ink on the eyelids of our graceful blind,
who invented the word ugly to describe the fallacy of lost smiles
painted in shadow on your claustrophobic sighs.
swallow god's sense of humor, and tell me how it feels
to be inadvertent, inconspicuous: alive.
Spacebound HumanovaLet's speak in chiaroscuro accents, and play notes
Of festive peace.
We can wheeze our way through Queen of the Night Aria
And make dead art beautiful again, lest we impregnate
Our freebasing nicotine and ammonia enriched coal lungs
With an angel voice made dime.
Let's burn our living skeletons, in opposition
Of children who only dream of Afghanistan in spaces of static, and
For smoking stars celebrating the past life and torrid bones
Of protesting Tibetan monk remains made real.
I want to break your ribs, preferably save and tattoo
The eighth one down on your left side with the number eight, sideways-
An indication of my iridescent naivety, and
A mute echo of your lurid, inorganic spent breaths.
Let's lose ourselves in essence, in sanctifying cries
Of time and music, when we set sail on solar winds made holy
In the art of space and your Mother's decisions,
When science became a means of blank radiated stardust pollution
Found in the flow of rich blood within your lithe veins.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More