but i hold my hands out, ad infinitum by chromeantennae, literature
Literature
but i hold my hands out, ad infinitum
polysemous kneels and jaded,
i curl ambiguity against
the collapsing walls of
ambigram.
letters folded into wings
and gone again.
(maybe they're fluttering,
gliding, soaring, drifting (away))
i cannot fly and
nor can you.
and my voice is clawed
into the branch where i was born
and i am not st. vincent;
i cannot birth in reverse.
no matter how much
i try to carve the words
out from my jawed
insides
out.
but this love and sadness
is baroque, climactic
and dramatic.
i look for you
in the attic of my mouth
and the basement of my hands--
i hear you in the corner
of this dystopian (uni)verse
and know better than to reach
for you now,
the room
handfuls of memories by LionesseRampant, literature
Literature
handfuls of memories
your eyes are the gray of the clouds
when they cover the sun after a storm;
your words washing up on the skyline
of my towering city at night, a message
in a bottle only to be read by me.
ignoring gravity, i've recklessly
spilled the secret lives of shadows
to a piece of paper just for you
and buried them with the ocean.
since that day i'm the hunted;
for they want to make buttons
out of my traitor bones.
i am standing on the edge of a mountain,
watching as my carrousel dreams float away.
they dissolve into smoke and are consumed
by the eyes of night. my paperweight
soul tears as each piece disappears.
misguided ghosts
is what they are, tr
There is a shiver along my circuitry when he comes in to check on me. I hear my gears whirr faster, but only for a moment, before my system re-adjusts their speed. I watch him from the corner of my eye, the task before me boring, monotonous, while he is exciting, lively. Lively. I run the word through my processor, its meaning sparking along my wires, slithering between my circuit board. He stops in front of me, glasses falling against the bridge of his nose.
He scribbles something on the clipboard he is holding and I watch as the ligaments and muscles flex in his arm. I rotate my vision down to my own arms, similar in design, but slimmer, m
Snow gently resting on the ground
brings the neighborhood kids around.
I sip hot cocoa as I watch
through the window, listening for laughs;
a scene straight from a photograph.
Snowballs thrown and chilly hopscotch
sends me back to the days when I
was young -- observing starry skies
and eating melted butterscotch.
Silver Tongued Mysteries by LionesseRampant, literature
Literature
Silver Tongued Mysteries
That night, when your lips tasted of butterflies,
I discovered supernovae in your eyes.
Your gossamer lashes brush against my skin
and my heart soars like symphonic violins --
but your apocryphal words cloud in my mind
as I realize for so long I have been blind.
I am a panther caged in your desire; weak,
filled with an apathy that makes my bones creak.
The roots connecting me to earth are brittle
as burned wood, a pain that throbs inside my skull.
That night, when your lips tasted of butterflies,
I discovered supernovae in your eyes.
Your gossamer lashes brush against my skin
and my heart soars like symphonic violins.
The sky-trees sing of i
A Lesson in Escapism by LionesseRampant, literature
Literature
A Lesson in Escapism
When inspiration escapes thought
and your muse has curled up, catlike,
has given up, taken a hike;
don't just give up, don't be distraught -
go and brave the stormy seas, shoot
into space like an astronaut.
You can't just wait for lightning strikes
when inspiration escapes thought.
always you, writing in secret channels;
collapsed tunnels in the datastream, ghosts of then
and now
drifting on piano-key galaxy
smiles and alphanumeric waves;
gravel lips, and slow whispered steam
escaping from them
sometimes I think you are part of the code,
a prime number that won't split out from the whole
and you'll never truly go
In parallax, the likely tide
rushes in between
silt gathered on shoestrings
and the wanderer's volition
For so long, the monologue runs
up and down the circle of the spinal cord
pretending not to know the shifted image
and when the ending comes, you see
the world was never where it was
You are juxt-a-poser;
pale participle mashingclashing up
against the grain-y film filter
I can feel you snidely sigh; sweet
hips chasing all the boys'
better judgement gone. Given time
I'd surely run out ragged-clawed toes
on barefoot jaunt, jaundiced eyes
turned on the sun like banged gavels
and the sentence is a run on. And you focus
on the wrong range- never enough
time, money, love, life, or any mixture of them
to keep you in one place.