[x]

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.

FossilizedLiving proof of fossils alive,
and no horseshoe-crab am I.

Nor, inhabitable harsh compression of plates,
residing under humid marsh-scapes.

I mold into the walls, as chalky old coal.
But I am no mineral, no era.
I am not, Mesozoic.

Through the ages
Iron
Bronze
silver, gold and heroic.

I remain a still-life; and no Iduna's apples would retain my youth
No magic fountains, or time devices, or wrist watches.
I am the machine of time.
The watcher, omnipotent, the wise.

But

no God am I

Somewhere, sweet tangy sap trolleys down cracked bark.
Somewhere, celestial bodies erupt unseen.
Somewhere, a abrupt breeze blows overturned bi-cycle tire

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 749 bytes more ▶

More from ~epimetheus

That Kind of Man

That Kind of Man

I am the kind of man
who wears his sins on his sleeve

Who stares into windows and mirrors
waiting to glimpse Narcissus
grinning in reverse

Who stares after ends of receding women
and envies their fullness and motion

Who stares at approaching men
and wonders how they taste in the dark

Who fits four letters into a perfect mouth
and spits them out like bullets
or mumbles them like rotten teeth

and worships the Word in place of a God
his mother carries close to her heart

A Yellow Dress

A Yellow Dress

A man with a drinker's nose can be found on greasy spring nights in a Maryland bar schlepping clams and beer. The parking lot is covered in gravel that grits its teeth as cars pull in from the road headlights cutting precise holes in the darkness. He drives a Cadillac. Its color is Timber Frost, but it looks brown under the dust. Somewhere, close in the dark, the sea rides itself onto the shore in pulses too small to be called waves.

He goes there after days when the air is full of something that quickens his pulse as he watches his secretary swish in and out from behind her desk in that yellow spring dress, cut in two by the

In the Beginning

In the Beginning

It would have begun with bones
the skeletal percussion of ribs and teeth
against the golden hammers of God

Scraping must have followed
the excess worn away
from the essential

There must have been stirrings of spirit
even then
behind the bones
as the outlines came together
A separation of sound from an undifferentiated darkness
the rising and falling of breath yet to be

Eyes next
empty in the darkness
but for occasional golden spikes of impact
and the silhouette of God
against the void

The thin lines of nerve laid within the bone
tight wires that jumped the body plucked
puppet's strings meant to make him s

In the Garden

In the Garden

We were there
in that simple garden
just you
and me
without names
or clothes
or memories
moving slowly in the silence
watching it ripple
like water
behind us

But that was not enough
and I said
'Show me what you look like
without skin'
and you smiled
and something profound
moved
behind you

With the simple grace
of undressing
you pulled yourself free
of all the things
surrounding you
until
you were something
without skin

Then you touched me
and I understood
that you would never be
anything
but beautiful to me

Learn to Play Guitar

Learn to Play Guitar

I remember as a sophomore in high school the first time I made out. I was a late bloomer. Most kids my age had already groped their first girl and probably had their first humid taste of pussy, but being the child of a Christian household I had experienced none of that. One of the most destructive effects of marijuana is its ability to undermine belief and conviction, familiarizing the user to the more basic sensations of the body. Suddenly masturbation was a whole new world. It got so that I wouldn't masturbate unless I was high or desperate. But as my desire grew, my confidence waned. Sober I couldn't approach a girl.

The Violent Pride of Flags

The Violent Pride of Flags

When the only hand left to play
is full of hearts and spades
When there is rain
sharp and smooth as swords
When there is stillness
violent and proud and flags
steel as strong as snow
blood as deep as memory
I will know you've left

When he lies with alabaster hands
folded across a fractured heart
When she sings for screaming
like her mother did
and finds a black knot of nettles at the back of her throat
and draws them out across her tongue
and speaks through pain
then I will know they're alone

When the king and crows are grinning
When the wind is brittle as the distance between bones
and I underst

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: December 9, 2010
File Size: 749 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 0
Favourites: 0
Views: 49 (0 today)
Downloads: 4 (0 today)

License

Creative Commons License

Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License.

[x]

Blues Run the Game

by ~epimetheus, Dec 9, 2010, 2:19:28 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

There are no more mysteries tonight
and I don't give one good goddamn

There are no more secrets left to keep
no more whispers hidden under tongues
or Latin chanted sub rosa
in high-ceilinged rooms
thick with smoke and shadows

There are no more moments between men
silent except for handshakes
no quiet confusion between lovers
mistimed glance or fumbled caress

There are no mysteries tonight
no hunches or half-truths
no lies, rumors or omissions
no signal slowly separating into static
just the unrelenting light of truth
pulsing against my aching eyes

Blues Run the Gameby ~epimetheus

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Jackson C Frank via Adam Duritz as misinterpreted by me.

No comments have been added yet.