When a blacksmith bellows. by inmyroom, literature
Literature
When a blacksmith bellows.
I have millions of cells expiring sadness
into the atmosphere, drawing nothing back in
but how I remember the colours of trees
before any of this started.
I used to have lungs, you see
all honeycombed and spongy.
I don't know how this happened.
I woke up one day and felt only a cavity
and two tiny plums, all purple and rotting,
squeezing through my ribcage
farther and farther each day.
I thought of you and gasped, feeling
only pain, only the pushing of bones
out of sockets, wondering how
these sagging balloons
could feel so big.
It's chronic, I say, as you touch
the air around where my chest
used to be, as you peer in there
fifty bucks stolen take out by rider-on-the-storm, literature
Literature
fifty bucks stolen take out
I get a call from the dame
it was with a drink i think or else the night
made off with flashes into somebody
i know nothing of
she'll make this city his
across a fresh bottle of the truth
and a need to find calm in a cruel world
there is -
WAKE UP!
she smells like fifty bucks stolen take out-
perfect.
Call me Christ
if you want
but this forty-or-so days
in the wilderness hasnt taught me
near as much as I thought it might
and the Manna
just plain seems to be missing,
unless it was just a mistranslation
of rice and beer.
I met this girl on the latenight train.
She was talking about signs
and prophets and
loneliness,
and I got to thinking that maybe
Maybe its all tied together.
I havent seen the ocean
since last February
and I miss it
but what I miss more
is knowing where the
shoreline is.
Of desires and daydreams by rider-on-the-storm, literature
Literature
Of desires and daydreams
She measured his wants-
His vulnerable heart crumbles
with an ensemble of woes
softly in the background
solemnly sends his broken self
into the void.
Dearest eclipse, oh familiar gleam
high above
subtle in presence
but miserable in company
this is no sanctuary, no beautiful retreat
from reminiscence or love;
this is a torture hole
a certain crater that parallels in grief
my reflection.
And now I drift
inside a sole reality.