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drawing a picture of a girl i metsmoking outside the bar, wondering
if this is how men remember women;
i do not recall her name, only
the sly curl of her lips as she said it.
old waves unlock their gatesold waves unlock their gates for him to enter
humming the splittersplash tune of desolation
he turns his back from dawn;
each step on the crest of concrete above the sand
somnolent, mind pressed to lowering the tide
of his own all-swallowing sea even as it longs to eat up
and climb the cliffs of the shoreline. he is
trying to grow away from want
while the land, unwoken, curls brutal fists
in its slumber like a child. the port hills rise ahead of him
these cold monuments
of majesty and valour bearing blind witness
to the fluent exchange of beaming light
between water and air which leaves nothing hidden
but gives nothing away
from surface to churning surface,
refracting the idea of morning
deep into an unheeding dark that has never heard of
a clinging oil that sinks beneath the water,
remorseful and unmercifully silent
he can feel it under the waves- this grandiosely bloated darkness,
older than he will ever be, is no more distant than his skin
from his c
cat songyou are so big and I ask you are we brothers
you are a lot older than me so why didn’t I
you know a lot and I don’t know a lot
can I help you be happy
if I help you be happy will you help me be happy
I’m sorry I’m so small
are you listening to me
when I bring you the small prey-bodies with feathers or tails like string
I know they’re not much to you and you think I’m showing off
(here matted fur, there the bloodied beak and still-blinking eyes) darling
it isn't pride, it’s love, I care
and I care that
you are a lot older than me (and much wiser I’m sure)
but nobody ever taught you to hunt properly
(I’m sure that if you knew how you could catch much bigger things than I could)
so please let me teach you if you’ll listen
please I cannot let you go out into the world being
so big but knowing
The Scavenger KingWho crushed these grapes, judging them sweet or sour?
When I was king I had a crown of gold.
Stale wine spreads silt and ashes in my mouth,
Sharp fogginess spreads quick into my bones.
When I was king I had a crown of gold
-en thorns that snatched for my brain 'til I bled;
Knowing my children lived just to grow old
I wept, and marvelled, pulling at my beard
Thorns snatching for my brain until I bled
While my hair, silvering around my ears,
Tangled itself into words left unsaid-
One knot for Hope, another there for Prayer.
My hair wisps silver lies around my ears;
My children do not speak their mother tongue.
These offspring show less mercy than the years.
The world's not how it was when I was young.
Descendants do not speak their mother's tongue.
When I was King, I had a golden throne.
Now if I try to talk, my voice is numbed
And when I manage sleep, I sleep alone.
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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