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holograms of brinei do dwell in coastlines –
between the salt water and the
sea strands i watch the arches
of my feet be kissed by
creeping little creatures
and the demure sucking
of the ocean’s lacy skirts,
twitching restless and happy
in the light
i have never liked the
open sea once the sun
goes down – at night it is a
galaxy swelling and mute
like a storm, lumbering
leviathan made of ink
and coal, made molecule
for molecule of the kind of
fear that starts
in the marrow-spaces
of your bones;
a dreadful suck of negative
we all know in space
no one can hear you scream
and i think the part that frightens
me the most is how so much of me
want to plunge through its
hidden stars and choke on brine
let it strip my lungs raw let
bubbles stream upwards
in oil-slick black and
sink and sink
and sink and
so i turn my head away
and look to the soil,
where the coastal
Marcohe left america with his family
to escape mccarthyism and when i
was little i was scared of him and
his house and the smell of isolation
thick in your nose – of the way
he coughed like he had a
thousand years trapped in his
callused lungs - and i hated the
surrealist art amongst the cobwebs
on his walls
i’m older and i drink coffee
from a stained cup, cloying with
milk powder and sticky sugar
and he says “oh, the situation
in israel, that really gets to me” –
i look over at the dostoyevsky
on his shelf and you can’t
carry a conversation with him
now (too deaf, too lost), but
still he talks and talks and talks
and decades spill like bees from a
and you shall have no other godsbroken nails
digging into palms
made of soft and foolish skin
made of lifelines made of heartlines
made of veins spreading out like spiders
like trees like rivers
paper skin made of stories
made of the sleeping beauty sopor
beneath scrubby khaki trees
made of salt-scented prayers and
glitter-shot sighs and a tension
swollen and creaking as
damp wood as concrete
cracking in the heat. still as a statue,
lungs’ hushing hum, restless
like the sea. summer
pressing a hot and heavy breath
on the back of
adoration and sweat
gathering beneath my clothes.
heavy like a stone, you
know i’ll never let go. you
know. i am –
i am devout.
equinoctial ennui amongst the eucalyptithere is no loneliness more profound
than that which the earth can give you
when apollo knocks off work
and smokes his first cigarette
exhaling nicotine stormclouds
like blue celestial bruises in the fleshy
belly of the sky
as daylight drains like a wound and
the trees turn wild and bewitched,
twisted fingers dropping broken blossoms
like widow’s tears –
screaming wolf-women moaning
for little dead sparrows and
their moon-smiling babies
(gone, gone, gone)
sunlight drips away, night edges its way in
and the dark parts of your mind
roar and chatter and laugh
and crawl and slink and
scream with viscous joy.
the soil’s not kind, the grass isn’t green
anymore, the grapes are sour and the ground is hard –
your pale knees are streaked and sobbing with red
the night does not care whether you
take your next breath.
the sky is so big, and it sees
RegressionI feel like I'm twelve again, trapped
in winter clay.
A thick slime of resentment at the world
coating, gagging in my throat,
other people's beauty shoved
raw and saccharine in my mouth.
This is a bitter pill to swallow. The slick-
smooth muscles convulse,
my eyes are hot and bright.
My body's a collection of haphazard
flaws and vaguely, dimly, I hate
myself. Wipe away the smoke from my
mirror, the grit, stare at myself dumb
and naked and peeled open like a grub.
Crawling, sticky. Chemical cleaned,
antiseptic guts, ready for the
redemption of the knife.
I want to rip myself
Who would ever
love this? Who would ever
touch this with their fingers
a moment while lighting fires in drumschuck wood on, and more, and more,
and more. it feels like a waste. why is this rusting
metal tin so hungry for the earth? consume,
consume, consume, the fire is snarling
like a dog.
the nissan pintaro sits squat and blunt
in the uncut grass. there is diesel
on my fingers. sunburn on the back of my neck,
aching lumps of meat pressing on
it roars as i flick in pallets i chopped
myself with a heavy-headed tomahawk,
my body and the slick-shine metal
work together to make it split
apart like fruit
summer is weighty, sheet metal pressed
over the bulging sun. we are insulated, trapped
in cotton wool. most of me longs for
the salty ice swells of the sea. there is a
mosquito near my ear
and i think i have a cobweb
in my hair.
little violoneThe earth for all its years could sing without me.
Past the sky, the listening spheres sing without me.
Deep in the woods, the nymphs and spirits flit
through the old trees. They hear, but sing without me.
Within my heartstrings hums the flesh of beasts,
threads with no bloody veneer - sing without me.
Now the crawling creatures are left alone;
coiled metal seals the nuclear - sing without me.
Carvings and curves of a feminine feel,
like ink into her back seared - sing without me.
Artists work my tongue with pen and horsehair -
groups of musicians here won't sing without me.
With ease, I can mimic the human voice;
to great peaks I dive and rear, so sing without me.
I don't need your voice. I am in command
of sonorous solos. Dear, sing without me,
or try. My fairy, phantom garbed in white,
you couldn't bear, puppeteer, sing without me.
Surprise Tea Party From HellMy Jack Frosting is gone,
Once I finish my drug-laced Earl Grey tea.
Now, what are they going to do to me?
listening to silenceThe party had ended, nothing to do but listen to silence
glitter on her sore and bitten lips still, she listened to silence.
She'd left the boy and he didn't know what to do with himself
anymore. He couldn't muster up tears, so he sat and listened to silence.
Taste of peppermint chewing gum in her mouth and the
woods quiet around her, she was happy as she listened to silence.
The poet sat in front of her computer, and observed the things
her heart sent fizzing to her fingertips, and she listened to silence.
PetalsThe grass tickled between her toes as her father toiled away with the roses by the letterbox. She watched his fingers weave between the thorns to pat the soil around each bush, humming to some John Lennon song she couldn't put a name to. Despite the sun just tipping the horizon, she saw sweat prickling his brow and his eyes squinting against the light. The fine lines on his face were suddenly accentuated by shadow, and for a moment, she swelled with wonder.
'Maria, come here,' he said, waving her over. 'You're not going to learn anything sitting all the way over there.'
Excitement sparked her limbs into motion, and she crawled over to sit next to him, careful to tuck her skirt beneath her thighs to avoid the dirt.
He picked up a pair of clippers from beside him. 'Now, you need to snipe back these diseased parts here and there from the base of the plant. It helps it grow better.'
Snipping off two pieces of wood with ease, he deposited them in Maria's outstretched hand. Their rough textu
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More