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around and around
that lucid pain
& sing across
the great divide
like a pulsar,
a throbbing star.
Let them hear you
long after you fall
through your heart-hole
into the never/ever
& keep them wondering
Visitor's guideIn small-town America
that biker dude at the local Circle K
will greet you every time,
by name, even, after a while,
and he will ask you if you're OK.
This is not an actual question,
but that is all right.
In small-town America
you should not ride your bike
while wearing a shoulder bag,
hanging like a koala bear.
A school bus will eventually pass by,
the kids will laugh their asses off,
nice Mormon bros will call you "nice" and "bro",
and a '74 Chevy will nudge you into a ditch,
endangered, like a koala bear.
In small-town America
you should not just turn left for the hell of it
if you don't want to see a giant old man
straddling a John Deere, wearing nothing
but nearly swallowed shorts,
massive gold-rimmed Aviators
and a double-barreled shotgun.
You should never ever wonder,
where he keeps his extra shells.
I was a stranger,
but you spoke to me,
and I wish I had known
how to actually answer.
I’m ready to be used, you said;
but you’ve no clue what I could do
to you if you let me.
It isn't a matter of control,
a matter of fact, a sense of the matter;
it's the thrill of losing them all.
Will you declare the same
when I gain the bend of your thoughts,
or take your latest hours for myself?
The turns you take yourself
lead you down predictable roads;
I choose to close my eyes.
I want your hands, your mouth—
not your eyes, or even your concern;
just the weight of you over me.
Let's draw the blinds and see
what primal tongues our bodies choir
in the cosmos of the dark.
DepartureReason runs dry
along the Eastern shore
where NYC fingers
for the mainland.
The man who went
is a complete stranger
to what returned
from a different state.
Now he just watches
the land drown below.
is already gone.
nonbreakerI was going to write this poem
with hard returns. Because hard returns
is a part of what I do. But who gives a shit
about hard returns?
Hard returns are forced
just like how non-breaking spaces
are spaces that cannot be broken.
These are typographical rules.
Fuck typographical rules.
These are obvious, invisible things.
Fuck obvious, invisible things.
This is my whole life.
A sequence of unbreakable spaces
and hard returns.
AnamorphicFingers drip black death
as a brain snakes lumpily
around the end of love,
the stump at the beginning
of air and rot and revolution.
as if to say that everything
Cascade of eyes and mouths
and the dark of night between.
The pressing of buttons
and thoughts and lips
on bottles and battles
Steven Spielberg lens flares
in squinting eyes.
When Stars CollapseThis is how you bespeckled my bones
with bewilderment: you kissed hushed heart
whispers and slumbering secrets
into my fingertips. You infused awe
into my joints, causing me
to ask how snowflakes got their
shape and how long would it take
to get from the Sun to Capella.
You taught me that energy is neither
created or destroyed; stars do not die.
Eyes washed with emerald sorrows you
told me that they evolve, they change
into something entirely different,
or not so different.
I now know we are made of the same
particles as someone or something else.
We began someplace together.
We're made of so much more than "star-stuff",
we are made of each other.
two.send messages in their
little notes that
i love you.
i miss you.
where have you gone.
and i'll take them,
fill them up with
send them back, across
to the other side.
i'll send you a postcard...
wish you were here.
because i'm not coming back.
fil(l)edthey chipped away at you,
clasping you tight with
ceramic grasps and art class
filing you down,
filling you up;
trying to make you
they gasp, reflect
edit, edit, edit,
unmask your already
for the sake of perfection
in hale exhalations.
lurks a step from
and you're not quite sure
whether their machinations,
their clutching neophiliac
search for the ideal
has made you greater
The Breaths Between Usi'm minutes away
from the collision site
the breaths between us
and the lost time
clock guts, sprung
our hallway uncoils
his walnut lean
i'm seconds away
from the before
of our near-miss
the beads of air
and the imperfections of
in a rumored heart
a stuttering mass
this broken belled
has lost hold
of the lives we live
its skullsong rings
the same vibration
In a world with no mercy
Day after day
Until the end
The day I die
And then maybe
I'll find some peace
I am me. Who are you?I am fragments
of every person
I've met; every
memory made; every
bond formed and tie broken.
I am an orchestra
of people's opinions;
each snide comment
each casual remark
each passing compliment
I am a library
of forgotten lies
and fake smiles
and empty promises.
I am a sky of hope;
filled with stars
which carry the wishes
of the people I have encountered
I am never alone
for their influence will forever
taint my soul and
remind me of their hopes,
dreams and pain.
This is who I am.
Who are you?
Love comes in so many forms,
growing and changing swiftly with the ages.
A mama recording her sons first walk to her husband over seas with a shaky camera.
"It's only a storm," the big brother says to his sister whiles he takes out the instant hot chocolate.
A teenager opening her slammed door, ready to admit to her parents she doesn't hate them.
On a worn blanket, a college kid handing his boyfriend a rose, hoping it will be enough.
Girls squealing as they throw their diplomas up into air and go out into the real world together.
A father proudly patting his wife's baby bump, a first miracle.
A women kissing her father goodbye as she turns off the machine that keeps him alive.
A middle aged chemistry teacher handing back a failing student a A+ paper.
An older couple holding hands, content with the knowledge of the mountains they've overcome together.
Love extends past the page, from my hand into others souls.
on remembering to breathe:i.
you can't hold it in for forever.
your lungs weren't
made to bear the weight
of this world, they weren't made
to left unexpanded
and unexplained -
it is not phenomenon that wakes you
when paralysis hits in the
night, it is physiology telling you that
not everything happens on automatic, okay?
(at least not for always)
you're born like a time bomb, with
only so many beats of
your heart in place to tick away day by day -
your words, they're the same.
there's a time limit
on your tongue, so say something that
means something - use words
that dig in and rip out hearts, use words that
curl around your fingers and worm their
way into your soul.
use words to make something
beautiful. something remembered.
never leave three things
left unsaid because they can be three
words that mean everything -
i'm not telling you to save your breath.
i'm begging you not to waste it.
sing. sing enough to take your breath
away because even though
it leaves you gasping, it fills up that
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More