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Subway Poem: NovemberIn a cement cavern unraveledSubway Poem: November
Beneath footsteps, crash, drip, steel,
Iron grate, chin buried in collar;
In a train that paces, hysterical,
Never finding peace,
Only one to whom it could be said:
This track was not meant for you.
His jacket, his bag, his ID badge,
Plastic and real, but also:
His braided hair, four braids,
A face like a cliff,
Eyes like animals –
Do they see the fat that sleeps, heavy and damp in jeans?
The thin glasses above the ink headline?
The weariness that stares, vacant,
The end of the day that slumps aga
by ~surferxrosa
we shall overcomeI find it almost unbearably depressing that the Internet used to be a place where ugly people could take refuge until some narcissistic fuck came along and invented the webcam. What . The . Hell .we shall overcome
Even the scanner has become ubiquitous, thanks to Epson and their delicious printer/scanner/fax combos. "17/f/ct sorry no scanner" just doesn't fly in the desert of the real anymore. Furthermore, such websites as HOTorNOT in conjunction with livejournal "rating communities" like hotties_only continue to perpetuate the concept of ugly people having no place in society and lend an even greater measure of power to the attractive elite. Non
by ~surferxrosa
tanka trucksyeats once said "things fall apart," and achebe backed him up, knowing that those who would disagree must be foolish, in love, or both.tanka trucks
by ~surferxrosa
anochecertaking the path that crawls off Sycamore into depths of oak and elmanochecer
crashing greenlit everything was life! renewed
and life! unwound and violent the unwavered sun a whole note
a sky bluekeyed symphonic rich and golden swelling swollen chromatic scales sent me shivering the grass all filled with gold rivers of california paved streets of the new world
I smell a humming life
a low and drumming repetition a rhythm can you hear it?
but it’s getting late says the dipping sun
by ~surferxrosa
Favourites
CanberraYour cobweb streets are hung with plum trees, your cars wander down your roads with nowhere to go. Friday night your squares fill with restless youth who stumble the pavement burnt by gin. We are trapped, trapped in your gossamer, tapped in your slow and sleepy days.Canberra
When winter comes you rest. When summer comes you get drunk off the wine of rotting plums. Finally, autumn sets each leaf on fire and they hang on the boughs of trees for months caught in your sleepy gossamer before falling like the easy night.
by ~festivemanb
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Please?
--
To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else. -Emily Dickinson
Apologies spilling like...uh, some wondrefully transcendent simile. Hey. at least it ups your post count (as if you cared
Anyway, I was enthralled with your gallery. I've got my eYes on you.
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I probably just said something offensive. It's just the internet, relax already, dork.
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like that made sense.
Happiness, by
The Interview, by
Rusting Bridges of Suburbia, by
So, I did some peruzing, and earthed up these three pieces.
Happiness is beautiful in its own simplicity, and has a subtle kick to it that I find lacking in a lot of reading these days.
The Interview is an interesting little for-the-stage piece that I found myself cracking up over, all over the place. There's some great humor and dialogue going on here, as well as some great subtle toss-ins for the actors to experiment with. Something I would love to see performed.
While Rusting Bridges of Suburbia might be a little ho-hum subject-wise, the rhythm and control of meter that ~ honestbrutality has accomplished here is impeccable. It takes a lot of practice and a lot of control of vocabulary to get a good rhythm in a slam piece these days, and it's done beautifully here.
Get writing, fuckos. *jesusbite
We're chained huh?
~L~
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<---=^^=--->
'Fly, Fly!'
Another part of childhood nostalgia goes 'Thbbth'
is Female
is a deviant since Sep 1, 2003, 5:16 PM
has 2,333 pageviews
is located in United States
last visited 7h 35m 19s ago
Well done!!
And cool... I finally found another Pixies fan!! What's your favourite song?
~L~
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<---=^^=--->
'Fly, Fly!'
Another part of childhood nostalgia goes 'Thbbth'
time to continue
hello,
nova
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And I stood.On the hill and realized there were two nightskies.The one above me.And the one under me,the city.With the thousand sparkling lights.And both were just as hard to explain.
Visual Me :iconcitizenvisuelle:
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I'll die drowned by your standards
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