deviant art

Deviant Login
Buy Art Buy adCast Buy Premium Membership
Shop		  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
[x]
if the moon was a hot air ballooni would be first in line
to purchase a ticket.

i would bring a jar of fireflies
to release into the stars
and scatter moon dust
in the bottoms of my boots
so i would be always be
walking on dreams.

i would sing to the sun
and knit jumpers out of clouds—
each carefully hemmed
with a silver lining
made of a native american's
sterling pearl hair.

after all,
if the moon was a balloon
and the sky was our ocean
i would be the grain of sand
caught between a salmon's gills.

on my journey,
my eyes would be telescopes
and my hands, compasses
as i hear the lone wolf howling to me,
crying out to his ancestors
in the plaintiv
counting phosphenes.sometimes i imagine a couple
that can't agree on children.
so in the meantime they settle
to use protection
until they come to a conclusion.
he's poking holes in their condoms
while she sleeps and
she's taking precautionary birth control
when he turns his back.
i wonder if they're happy, anyway.

i had a dream.
i don't remember all of it, just tidbits.
i recall you setting our family's home aflame
and curling up with your notebooks in the fireplace
and shrugging when you realized you couldn't escape.

that time in the water
my lungs felt like they were on fire.
my skin prickled and i could tell my hairs were on end,
and zero is the biggestraspberry thorns piercing through membranes
of adroit ballerinas with pointe shoes,
bones smashed against the wood;
they are mangled bodies of birds with suitcases tucked in their wings
phrases spilling from their lips:
(i might lose important papers)
scattered along with liquefied brains on the floor.

he was so afraid, that his immune system was having a seizure,
(its brain was falling apart [birds, birds, birds])
and they opened up the zeroth dimension
(you're the biggest zero out there)
infinity upon infinity, negatives, and ten.

among the scattered papers, she will dance with you again
Paperback SpineIn stories,
the lucky ones
have their lives changed
by one little moment-
one dandelion puff
between your palms.

And the author stresses
this moment, how tiny,
that seemingly unimportant
sentence, breaking
into a novel.

You have to be
always ready.

My eyes have gone dry
and my lungs are about to pop,
and my tongue is oversaturated-
and burning.
they'll get it right this timeImpossible demands, like hold
still and stop throwing up and

don't cry.

It can't be a hallucination when
everyone's screaming,

the pretty doctor's hair in her eyes, the nurses'
finger-bruises laddering my skin,

the wet pillow.

How sometimes the only power
is crying, noisy-soft, the waves of blood

gurgling sickly from lips
until someone decides, stop,

enough.

The army retreats and a quiet woman
spends the next hour wiping blood

off my shaking body.

The next day in the ambulance
to the next hospital, bigger and better,

dried red flakes sift from my hair
and I am afraid.
shoppingGod, I found you at a wet market in China
between a trussed up duck and some heavy hunk
of fat that was going cheap, stinking with salt and flies;
you were lying on your side, a landscape in fists and thighs
and not one of them there could moan the way you could,
that peevish bloated howl. I looked at you, slick jowls
amongst the rinds and ropes and toads, and thought
about the shops in San Francisco:

rows of jars, neat shelves and every aisle
mopped hourly, a pert teenager standing to scan
your bottles and bottles of wine--I thought about you
loitering in the toothpaste section, breathing in the gloss
and promise of it, while the
AlmanacIt is not October until a stray cat tries to follow you home.

It does not have to be a black cat.
It does not need to have
whiskers warped like whirls of smoke disturbed,
fur matted with ravenous burrs,
frame as gangly as a sapling with bark destined
to keep count of age rings.

The cat can be fat
in an ungluttonous way,
like a harvest moon.
If it's hungry, just feed it the snack cakes
that expired in June.

It is not October until you're trailing a shadow
other than your own. Say, you snagged
the silhouette of a picket fence
on the cuff of your jeans,
or the underbelly
of a scarecrow shaped
like the barn-hound
snoozing on th
Urban Evisceration     there is a thundering of one hundred buffalos-
the metro awakens
          and stampedes across the pre-cast
                                   terrains of my intestines
welders busy mending on one end
   cutting on the other
          surgeon handed precision and each moment costing another man's life
   
the nightmare goes like this:the nightmare goes like this:

an apron, clean pine green,
at work. the girls i know
so sweet and auburnborn
fixing hot chocolate behind

the bar. halloween blows
in tonight, burn out the
lights. burned out the

lights. smear our faces in
emerald green, walk the
corridors ziplipped as a

field mouse. the acid sizzles
in my mouth and the paint
leaves patches from neck to

navel. brown as something
yellow left in the oven too long,
the length of my torso a
flamethrower's crime scene, a

dinner embarrassingly overdone.
the girls see them and laugh
like i am a carousel burbling
highpitched ice cream music,

they sit me at their feet, a
je
Sea"Little girl, come to me,"
Said the ever whispering sea
"Take my hand and you shall find,
more than just a peaceful mind."

"No," she said and cast a stone
"I am not ocean borne"
"You always lie, but never see,
what you actually do to me."

The sea came in like a raging beast
"Now I shall have you as a feast,"
"I cannot lie, I am the sea,
where is your savior, where is he?"

The girl could not yell, she could not fight,
the sea held onto her with all its might
"You can have my body, but not my mind,
A piece of me will forever be left behind."

"Very well, you are mine,
your mind it lacks, but your body is fine."
The girl was nev
Stream Of ConsciousnessThe promise of tomorrow
Brings nothing but neglect
Of my own self-worth.
Craving your touch is a craving
Not satisfied by a peck on the cheek,
Or a light brushing of shoulders.
My dreams remain in purgatory.
My faith in love remains sublime.
My love of life is fading with each day.
I wish for more than what you give me.
I wish for more than what I have.
I wish for more than unfulfilled thoughts
Brought on by imaginary words that
Have never been spoken.
This stream of consciousness is relentlessly
Striving to become something that greatness
Can't put a finger on.
All I know is that I want more than to look into your eyes.
I w
Limbo (a.k.a. Poems from Work)I.
The machine's being stupid
and her card isn't working,
but he's heard it all before.
He's the kind of man
who expects hurricanes;
he sees the waves
rocketing towards him
and doesn't move a muscle
on principle.

II.
His mind is a prison
and his eyes are on the bars.
They can't keep him here,
not forever.
So he throws himself
against the cage,
knowing that one day
it must break.

III.
She's so young, barely an adult.
Her back bends and aches,
and he hates how her shins
creak and wobble
when she tries to walk.

IV.
He loves
those green slips of paper
as if they were his children:
numbered, ordered, stacked,
worth so
and i call it revoltingand tongues that wag like the tail of a dog,
shit-stained teeth that glare in the suffocating light,
bouncing off lips that crack with each move,
canyons of dry skin as if fingers peeled it
like a sickly brown banana, pus slithering,
a melted snake, with a melted red tongue,
flowing between its lips.
lashes like whips that slap at the cheek,
worms burying into thin ducts, curling upwards,
away from the white swamp with mold in the center,
a vile stench stinging their nostrils.

they lick the pus from the canyons,
inserting their tongue in between cracked skin,
gazing into swamps, fluttering the worms,
and wagging their tongue
CathieSalt-and-pepper hair contrasts sharply with the crisp, starched pillow;
bone-thin arms resemble bed rails--
tears in my arms, the morphine drip in your vein.
My inner rage refutes your calm acceptance.
You ask if we are waiting for you to die:  no.
We are waiting for a miracle,
we are waiting for you to heal--
We are waiting for something that will not happen.
We are stretching for something that is out of reach.
We are holding onto our obsolete hopes, the small fragments of our lives
so closely, we cannot see the bigger picture
of eternity.
In a paradox, God is calling you clearly,
but we can't seem to hear His voice--
only the silence ringing in our ears
as the monitor stops
your breathing ceases
your face un-creases--
and, for the first time in years,
you run Home.
a hospital bird with soot in her lungsshe slept through a car crash
that almost killed her,
through whitewhite walls
and dreams
where her lover dies
nobody thought she'd make it
but she woke up a few months later
with flowers in her hair
and ash in her airway
trying to remember how to start all over
but forgetting to remember how to live.
fall slipped from her open eyes
and winter crawled in for a long hibernation
of not-quite-cold-enough-for-snow
to her the clouds looked sick
and pale like they might
let everything inside them out,
but she opened up wide instead,
spilling blood where there was none to be spilled.
her heart slipped down the street
and with unsteady hands
she stitched in a bird and cut off its wings.
Browse More Like This
Download File
HTML, 708 bytes more ▶

More from ~jaani-androphile

that animalshe stands in a cramped kitchen, a small pot of bitter grounds boiling,
the bubbles imitating a small animal drowning, frantically letting out its last few breaths as she gets the pot off the stove,
carefully pouring the pitch black coffee into a mug,
a few scorching splashes licking at her skin,
a sugar cube in her right hand.

it churns the fine bones that weave through a small space, in which
cramped up are memories, small pictures, dented. smiles obscured by a coffee stain.
it squeezes the muscle that grows in one's thoughts,
hoisting them up, beating them through the brain,
as a heart pumps blood.
you can feel it as if, sma
when a muse stands silentdo you know what a feather is?
a whimsical quill,
drooped at the top
like a willow tree's branches
hang their heads.
the ink at the tip,
a tear on the corner of an eye
smudging a porcelain face,
a writer wiping it away with his thumb,
the rest of his fingers
cupping a chin,
and he chokes out whispers that embrace
his broken muse.
hypothermiait's the plush feel of the mind's whispers
(or perhaps it was the wind, dancing with my hair,
kissing its lady hands, licking the back of my neck)

"look," the whispers scribe into the wall that is my brain.

"look. look how the breeze paints grass, bending into a coil, look how the wind whips leaves around in a tango, yet you,

you do not welcome it, you close the doors of your wool jacket,
the zipper trying to break away,
it tells you (let's dance, tango is for two)"

the clouds serenade me,
raindrops whirling with the beat,
my scalp becomes a drum, wet fingers thump,
the zipper slides, the wool wraps around my waist,
i dance.
compareeins.

you were

the smoke pouring out of her mouth,
(misty coils of a vague filth,
dancing to noir jazz, fading with each note)
smudged lipstick on the side of of her mouth,
and the little streak that crawled to her tooth
when she bit her lip in a supposed wonder,
and her eyes threw a faint film over themselves,
(like an elegant lady wraps a silk shawl around herself in a light breeze)

zwei.

you had

the light feet of a dancer
whose calluses were hidden under tight shoes,
whose toes would arch like Nut over her children,
(and she or you would spin with the earth, holding her frame as if-
as if earth was something of mass, as if
you were the butterflyhe tiptoes like a ray of sun
rests quietly on your skin,
his lashes flutter - the wings of a butterfly
that tickle your cupped hands
so that your fingers can't help
but clamp down
on those notorious flapping flakes
so he runs, a thunderstorm,

his eyes, wild clouds, showering the desperate flowers
with no pollen from the butterfly
whose slimy blood gets under your nails,
like you crawl under a big branch of a tree
sheltered from his useless tears,
tickling the soil with your curling toes,

so he grabs the branch,
casts it down,
you are that butterfly,
flapping pathetically with your last breath.
you are that butterfly, that
[broken] mirrorquarrels marinated in expired words
yourfault/i'msorry/wish/youwere/gone,

couches that cough up dust when you
throw your hand against the cushion,
lay your head back, and breathe,

air, a coiling snake in your lungs,
crawling back out as carbon dioxide,

a home marinated in expired words,
pillows thrown against reflections
of what its dwellers never wanted to become.

Featured in Groups:

:icondark-asphyxiation: #Dark-Asphyxiation
A group for morbid minds! :iconwritten-from-within: #written-from-within
Written From the Soul :iconmindoflead: #MindOfLead
Art Community :iconwriteaway: #writeaway
Find Your Inner Voice :iconthewritersmeow: #TheWritersMeow
Cool Cats Who Write :icondarkclub: #darkclub
In Dark We Trust :iconyoungbutinspired: #YoungButInspired
We support Young Artists! :iconwriters4life: #Writers4Life
Writers Welcomed

Details

October 6, 2012
708 bytes
Sta.sh
Link
Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 11
Favourites: 25 [who?]


Views: 333 (1 today)
Downloads: 2 (0 today)
[x]

not so creative

:iconjaani-androphile:

‎~
i am a mosquito inhaling hypothermia's scorching breath,
helping with the homicide of my mucus-encrusted enzymes and cells,
cytoplasm seeping into the ice, snowflakes giggling.

>
she undresses me, clips off my wings,
uses them as tangled sheets around our feet
that hallucinated circulating blood, and blood cells that haven't died.

=
my eyes roll with the euphoric embrace,
her saliva whirlpools around my throat,
drops into the cracks of my teeth,
tree sap traps me in the bark,
asclepias was hidden in her mouth.
:iconjaani-androphile:
certain spieces of asclepias are poisonous, and will drive a person to euphoria before killing them. the poison used to be called the drink of immortality or the elixir of life. the end.
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
:iconhillsofmyst:
=HillsOfMyst Nov 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
You've been featured here!
I'd really appreciate it if you could check out the other features and :+fav: the journal! :heart:
Reply
:iconjaani-androphile:
~jaani-androphile Nov 21, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you :D
Reply
:iconcannibalope:
~Cannibalope Oct 30, 2012  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
I'm convinced. You are a prodigy. Where are you going with your work?
Reply
:iconjaani-androphile:
~jaani-androphile Oct 30, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you very very much. i am not sure where to go with my work... :c haven't really gotten any advice on what to do with that haha.
Reply
:iconcannibalope:
~Cannibalope Oct 30, 2012  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
Try maybe entering a poetry contest online. Or maybe go to a poetry slam (sounds lame, I know, but they're fun) and read some of your stuff. You'll knock their socks off. You could also just choose a bunch of your favorite poems and put them in a book. I like to print mine out and put them on public message boards or lamp posts... it's just neat to know people are reading your stuff, even if it's nothing serious. If you hang them up places and come back to look at them, a lot of times people have written on them... it's cool to see what people have to say.
Reply
:iconjaani-androphile:
~jaani-androphile Oct 30, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
i love slam poetry and hopefully can find a slam somewhere c: i never actually knew that they had places like that. c: and wow that's really neat. thanks for the advice.
Reply
:iconcannibalope:
~Cannibalope Oct 30, 2012  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
Sure! Good luck
Reply
:iconigeekcharming:
~iGeekCharming Oct 7, 2012  Student Writer
Intriguingly Intriguing
Thats a good thing
T'was amazing.
Reply
:iconjaani-androphile:
~jaani-androphile Oct 7, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you very very much :)
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
*glossolalias Oct 6, 2012
every time i read your writing, i am thoroughly impressed. gorgeous.
Reply
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
©2013 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy